


here where our pieces fall in place

by 24Carrots



Category: Schitt's Creek (TV) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Can we ever get enough versions of what it means to know each other -um- socially?, Europe, Explicit Sexual Content, Happy Ending, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Canon, Recreational Drug Use, Road Trips, Strangers to Lovers, Vacation, i don't think so, there's only one bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 17:15:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28852668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/24Carrots/pseuds/24Carrots
Summary: Each facing a professional crossroads, Dan and Noah meet by chance and get to know each other while traveling around Europe.Inspired by Noah’s lyrics inRoad Againand (a very tiny bit) by Noah’s web TV seriesBackpackers.
Relationships: Dan Levy/Noah Reid
Comments: 64
Kudos: 73





	1. Budapest

**Author's Note:**

> This is a different fictional first meeting in Budapest after Noah finishes filming the Titanic miniseries. In this universe, everyone is single as needed. 
> 
> Title is from [Call It Dreaming](https://youtu.be/BXC80ZXQhvQ) by Iron & Wine.
> 
> Due to the current global situation, it’s almost impossible to put together an accurate travel itinerary, especially one for the recent past. I’ve been to a few of these cities but had to rely on the internet to fill in the gaps. I hope we can agree that the itinerary is just a plot device and not think too hard about it. That said, you can absolutely check out all the places listed by name in this story on [this map](https://www.google.com/maps/d/u/5/edit?mid=10KmRgRLmdDC_KkvIqbzUoDop5nqsa4D2&usp=sharing).
> 
> Thanks to CL for their quick and most-helpful read-through.

The pocket dictionary is getting him nowhere and the guys next to him are laughing. It shouldn’t be this hard to order a cocktail. At this point, Dan will be lucky to get out of here before he adds injury to insult. He’s about to give up and go back to his hotel to wait out the first and, it turns out, last night of this waste of a vacation when a hand touches his elbow. 

From behind him, someone says something decisive but polite to the bartender in softer, slower Hungarian than that being spoken next to him. Dan turns to see a guy about his age, wearing a baseball cap, and holding up two fingers. Great, now Dan has a savior as well as a fan club. 

“That’s not what I was trying to order,” he says with a scowl when the bartender fills two tall shot glasses. Unfortunately, the guy doesn’t look put off. He looks… charmed.

“Who says I was ordering for you?” he asks, taking both drinks and handing one to Dan with an upside-down smirk.

Dan’s scowl deepens as he takes his glass, peering at the amber liquid. The guy watches him, non-existent brows raised like it’s Dan’s move. 

“Cheers,” he says with a shrug, tapping their glasses together.

His new friend takes a dainty sip while Dan tips his entire drink back like a shot, registering too late that he must have done it wrong. The sharp liquid clings to every surface of his mouth. 

“Ew! What is that?”

“A pálinka. It’s like a fruit brandy?” This guy looks like he’s further into his night than Dan is. His cheeks are pink, his eyes a little unfocused, his grin wide and unfiltered.

“Well it tastes like rubbing alcohol.”

“You’re supposed to sip it slowly to savor the flavors.” He smiles and takes another sip in demonstration.

“I don’t think that would help.”

“You know, this is a touristy-enough place. They probably speak English at the bar. At least enough to understand a drink order.”

“How very American of you.”

“I’m Canadian, actually,” he says, puffing up his chest in pride. It’s sort of cute, the way he says it, and it really shouldn’t be.

“Me too,” Dan offers anyway.

“I’m Noah, by the way,” he says, extending his hand.

“Dan. Hi.”

Noah smiles, and it’s—he has a nice smile. “Hi. Dan but not Daniel?”

“Only if you’re my father or you want to annoy me.”

“Got it.” His smile widens.

Dan smiles back. “So what else should I try? Is there fruit whiskey or something? Fruit wine?”

“No. Well maybe. If we’re stuck with Hungarian, the only other thing I know how to order is beer.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Dan crosses his arms, a motion that Noah follows with his eyes. His tongue pokes out to wet his lower lip as his eyes drag back to Dan’s face, pulling a flush up with his gaze. 

“Can I buy you one anyway?” Noah asks, tracing the rim of his glass.

Dan nods. He’s not really a beer-drinker, but he can feel his cheeks warm as he smiles. 

Noah says something else to the bartender, and the crowd of guys that started this whole thing bursts out in laughter, this time at Noah. 

Noah clearly doesn’t speak much Hungarian, but he does that cute chest puffing thing again and says something sharp that makes their eyes saucer and their mouths form shocked Os before they start laughing again. They get louder, speak faster, and Dan guesses that whatever they’re saying is Hungarian for “Would you look at this guy?”

Dan pats Noah’s shoulder in sympathy. “Perhaps we should find somewhere else to drink these,” he says, taking the beers from the bartender and nodding his head toward a clawfoot bathtub-turned-loveseat.

“Those guys are jerks,” Noah says, and he’s sort of pouting. Which is… cute? It’s cute. Dan is starting to wonder what the fuck is in a pálinka. 

“Mmm-hmm. Some things don’t need translation.” 

Noah sets his beer on the weathered wood coffee table and plops down on the overstuffed cushion in the cutaway tub. Dan sits primly so his back doesn’t rest against the grimy surfaces and Noah gives him a long, assessing look. His face is really remarkable, pale and transparent in more ways than one. The skin on the back of his neck prickles under Noah’s steady gaze. He needs to be careful here. 

“Are you here by yourself?” Noah asks, realizing Dan doesn’t know any of the people in the corner where he’s directed them to sit.

“Oh. Yeah. It’s kind of a long story. You?”

“Yeah. I came with some friends but they have to be on set early tomorrow.”

“On set?”

“I’m an actor. We’re filming a thing. A Titanic miniseries.”

“Oh,” Dan says, surprised. “Does your character…”

“Oh he dies. Can’t swim. Him, not me. I can swim.” God, even that, or at least the self-deprecating way he says it, is cute. “What about you? What do you do?”

 _I’m an actor,_ Dan wants to say, but you probably have to actually book a role to say that. “Between jobs, I guess. Kind of a long story.”

“Either you’re full of long stories, or you just don’t like my questions,” Noah says, taking a sip of his beer and turning toward Dan with eyes that make Dan feel raw and exposed. 

Dan’s shoulders tighten into a shrug and he hides his face behind his glass until he gets control of it again.

“Tell me one?” Noah asks, after Dan doesn’t say anything. Normally, Dan hates being pushed, but this doesn’t feel like pushing. It feels like permission. It also feels dangerously like flirting.

“Okay,” he says softly, and then he does. He tells him about the vacation he was supposed to take with his friend Elliot—okay more than friend—across central Europe: Budapest, Vienna, Munich, Zurich, and Bern. When he gets to the part about how Elliot didn’t show, Noah reaches out a hand and squeezes his arm in sympathy.

“Anyway I’m going to try to get a flight home in the morning,” Dan finishes.

“Wait, what? Go anyway,” Noah says. “Why not?” he insists, before Dan can protest.

Dan shrugs. “I don’t really want to spend my whole vacation thinking about being dumped.”

“Hm,” Noah nods, like he’s still trying to work out a solution. 

Dan drains his beer and resists the urge to cringe against the bitter, hoppy taste that floods his mouth. “And actually, I should probably go. I still have to pack.” 

“Oh, sure. Uh. Good meeting you. Maybe we’ll run into each other back home,” he says. 

Dan nods. Stands. “Thanks for the drinks.”

“Sure thing,” Noah says, and leans back against the weird cut-out tub with his glass. 

Dan nods awkwardly, waves awkwardly, turns awkwardly, and goes.

Noah looked rebuffed, and Dan probably could have made that a little smoother. It’s just he spent the entire day here moping, trying to convince himself that he’s done fucking around. He’s going to go home, move to L.A. full time. Maybe he’ll take an acting class. Try being a PA or something. Work up from the inside. Either way, it’s time to get his career on track and build a life he’s proud of.

Noah seems nice, and cute is probably not strong enough. Without the baseball hat, with better-fitting jeans and a different shirt, he might even tip over into hot. But Dan is not even a half day into this new resolution, and he doesn’t need a pint-sized, half-Canadian diversion with terrible taste in… possibly everything, based on evidence at hand. Best to shut this down before it starts.

Dan spends an hour at the computer available to guests in the hotel lobby looking for a flight home. Everything to Toronto from the major hubs is booked, so he picks the city he’d most like to be stranded in and calls an airline to see if he can get on standby. It takes forever to get a person who can help him, but he’s finally lined up to fly to Paris in the morning, and then to Toronto the next day if he can’t get on an earlier flight once he’s there. 

He asks the woman at the front desk for directions to someplace with food—he’s kind of hungry and it would be nice to have something around for breakfast in the morning. She sends him to a grocery nearby that’s open late and he manages to acquire a box of crackers, a wedge of cheese, and a bottle of wine without incident. When he gets back to the hotel, though, Noah is there, sitting on the curb, looking lost.

“Noah?” he asks. 

Noah looks up, blankly at first and then recognition dawning. “Daniel.”

Dan resists the urge to correct him. “Everything okay?”

Noah blows out a loud, fast breath. “I lost my phone,” Noah says. “It had my room key tucked in the wallet case thing.”

“Ah,” Dan says, eyeing the curb for obvious debris and then sitting next to him. “Did you check your pockets? Because I couldn’t help but notice they seem _very_ full.”

Noah grins. “What were you looking at my pockets for?”

Dan grins back and shakes his head. “What kind of phone?” he asks suddenly, an idea dawning.

“iPhone.”

“Do you have the Find My iPhone thing turned on?”

Noah blinks slowly. “I dunno.”

Dan pulls his own phone out of his pocket and taps on the screen until he has the app open. “Here. If you know your ID, you can try it.”

The phone illuminates Noah’s face, which frowns as he attempts a couple of passwords before one seems to work. 

“This says it’s back at Szimpla Kert,” Noah says wearily. “I swear I had it when I left.”

“Okay, well that’s a starting place at least,” Dan says, trying to be encouraging. He hesitates for a minute, but Noah seems stuck frowning at the map and Dan can’t bring himself to just take his phone back and wish him luck. “I’ll walk with you,” he says, standing up. 

He reaches out a hand and pulls Noah up too. Noah looks hazy and drunk, so Dan keeps his hand in case he’s not steady enough to walk without support. Noah clings, grateful. His hand is warm and his thumb tucks itself under the cuff of Dan’s sweater, sending an unwelcome surge of heat up his spine. None of this is part of the plan to get his life together, but he’s sort of glad that he won’t just be the hapless Canadian Noah met in a bar in Budapest that needed saving. Now they’re even. 

The walk back to Szimpla Kert only takes ten minutes, and Noah’s phone is safely behind the bar. The room key is nowhere to be found, though. 

“They’ll probably give you another key,” Dan says. 

“They say they can’t, because the room is under the production company, not under my name? I don’t know. I have to wait until the morning and sort it out with someone’s assistant or something. I guess I can wake up one of the other cast members and crash with them.”

“Well.” Dan ponders. There’s an obvious solution here. One uncomfortably different from the hasty exit he tried earlier. “You can come back to my room, if you want. I have snacks.” Dan holds up the grocery bag he’s been carrying.

Noah chews on his lip. “Okay.”

Noah seems buoyed by reconnecting with his phone, and the walk has taken the edge off his wobbliness. On the way back, he nods toward a small park and suggests they eat their snacks there instead. “C’mon, we’re already out,” he adds when Dan hesitates. 

Dan has nothing to open the wine with, so he’s stuck with Noah’s beer. He breaks off chunks of flakey gouda while Noah fishes crackers out of the sleeve one at a time. Noah perches on the pedestal of a statue, nursing his drink and licking errant crumbs off his fingers as they eat. It’s ridiculously easy to get stuck watching him, which is kind of annoying. He’s not even Dan’s type. He’s a small fratboy with nice manners and great skin and eyes that dare him to keep watching. 

Their conversation is more like two conversations running alongside each other. Noah asks if he’s ever been to Europe. He tells him about his last trip, a work trip to Barcelona for MTV, while Noah tells him stories from when he lived in Montreal. There’s a connection in there somewhere, but he’s not sure where. 

After another beer, Dan is apparently at the ‘wax poetic about the intrigues of foreign leaders’ point of beer-meets-jet-lag, a state he prefers not to reach in strange company, but it’s too late now. He starts explaining the Italian prime minister’s various scandals in detail, and Noah matches him point for point with stats about the Toronto Maple Leafs, as if the two are in any way related. Noah seems mostly confused about all the details Dan shares about Silvio Berlusconi, and Dan has no idea who Tomas Kaberle is. The divergent conversation should be annoying, too, but it isn’t. It’s just nice to be with someone who cares a lot about something, and who enjoys telling him why, and who thinks that Dan caring about something makes it worth learning about. 

After another beer, Noah climbs higher up onto the statue and pretends he’s singing in a trio with the two stone figures. He has a decent voice, even buzzed and belting unrecognizable lyrics while struggling to keep his balance. 

Someone in a uniform chases them off, and they wind up in an alley laughing into each other’s shoulders. Noah’s lips graze wet against his neck, then again with more pressure. 

“Want to keep walking?” Dan asks, because he’s afraid that if they go back to his room now he’s going to ask Noah to do that again, to do it everywhere.

“Yeah,” Noah whispers.

It’s not so much a walk as a ramble. They end up halfway across the truss-like Liberty Bridge over the Danube. Noah pulls a joint out of his bottomless pockets, lights it, and offers Dan a hit. 

Dan gets introspective when he smokes, and pretty soon he’s telling Noah how terrified he is to go home. That he quit a steady, well-paying job in the entertainment industry to focus on acting and hasn’t been able to land a role. That he’s terrible at auditions and how do you even _get_ a job if you can’t audition anyway? That he’s feeling nervy and desperate. That he’s afraid he’s going to ask his dad for help. 

Noah tips his head. “Your dad?” 

Which is when Dan remembers that they don’t actually know each other, even though there’s something worn in and comfortable about being with him. So then he has to tell him who his dad is. 

“I’m sorry,” he interrupts himself. “I know I sound so self-righteous and I should just—” 

“Dan.” Noah stops him with a hand on his arm. “Two things. First, your sweater is so soft. I’ve been wanting to tell you that all night.” Dan bites down on a smile, and tries to blame the gentle way Noah pets his sleeve on the weed and the beer and not on the way Noah is looking at him like someone who actually gives a fuck. 

“Second. Auditions are hard. There’s nothing wrong with asking for help from people who are in a position to help you. I promise you, if you suck, someone will find a way to fire you.”

“That’s strangely comforting,” Dan says, and means it. 

Noah’s smile is bright in the glimmering lights on the water, his hand stroking meditatively up and down Dan’s arm. “Third—”

“You said two things.”

“Third,” Noah presses on. “One way or another, it’ll happen, and then you’ll look back in a year or two and see that’s how it had to happen.”

“Well. Good for future me.”

“Is this cotton?” Noah asks, pinching a fold of Dan’s sweater between his fingers.

Dan gives into the smile. “Cashmere.”

“Huh.”

The sky is noticeably lighter than it was when they arrived, the river now purple in the predawn light. Noah’s skin looks ghostly and his baseball hat is slightly crooked, and Dan is starting to feel the drinks and the pot and the lack of sleep sink deep into his joints. 

“We should probably start walking back.” Dan kicks a loose pebble through the railing on the edge of the bridge. “I still have to pack.”

Noah doesn’t argue, just bends over to pick up his empty beer bottle. Dan shouldn’t be looking at his ass, but it’s a good thing he is, because the plastic rectangle of his room key makes itself apparent.

“Noah,” Dan says, stepping into his space. The look Noah gives him, at this close range, is enough to make him forget the words key and back and pocket, so he just reaches behind him and snags the plastic card between his first and second fingers.

“You found my room key,” Noah says unnecessarily.

“Mmm-hmm.”

Noah takes the key, his hand brushing softly against Dan’s, and Dan would be in so much fucking trouble if he hadn’t already booked a flight out. 

“It’s a good thing you’ve been paying so much attention to my pockets tonight,” Noah says, smiling. 

Dan rolls his eyes and backs away to keep from kissing him. 

It takes a few extra turns to find the hotel, and Noah startles when he sees it, like he forgot they were looking for it. The sun is still an unseen glow along the horizon, but the façade of the Corinthia Hotel is shiny and gold, it’s exterior lights still illuminating the walls.

“Come up?” Noah asks. 

He really shouldn’t. But he’ll probably never see Noah again, and he’s reluctant to cut their time together shorter than he has to. So. “Sure.”

“Come up” means climb six flights of stairs, apparently, because Noah is claustrophobic and tiny European elevators make him feel like he can’t breathe. It’s Dan who can barely breathe by the time they reach room 663. 

Noah takes his key out of his back pocket and waves it proudly between them before sliding it into the slot on the door. Dan follows him inside. Noah’s room is tidy despite being lived in for two months. The closet is mostly empty, though. He must travel light.

“Water?” Noah asks, handing him a bottle from a grocery tote on the dresser.

“Thanks.” Dan watches Noah take a long gulp from his own bottle. He really, _really_ shouldn’t be here. “I can’t stay long. I have to pack for my flight.” 

“Your flight?”

“My flight home?”

“Home?” Noah whines. “I was hoping maybe you changed your mind.”

“Traveling on a romantic vacation by myself has about as much appeal now as it did earlier,” Dan says. 

“Hm,” Noah nods. Dan can’t tear his eyes away from him. “I could go with you.” 

“What?” Dan laughs. “You don’t even know me. _I_ don’t even know _you_.” Which is probably the more important point. “All I know is that you’re Canadian, can’t keep track of essential belongings, and apparently talented at pissing people off in their native tongue.”

“I’m actually half-Canadian.” He smirks, the little shit. Dan almost wishes Noah were still drunk so he could blame this idea on that. Hell, if Dan was still drunk he’d probably say yes. “I live in Canada, so like…” Noah rolls his hand in the air like all of this should be making his argument as a trustworthy travel companion. God. 

“Well in that case.” Dan’s exasperation is probably evident, but it’s filtered by laughter. 

Noah reaches for Dan’s shoulders, and his thumbs start turning little circles in the dips above his collar bones. They’re heavy and hot and he’s pressing too hard and Dan doesn’t mind it at all. “You had fun tonight, right? Didn’t think about what’s-his-name at all.”

“I did, I just… I promised myself I wouldn’t get into something again right away.”

Noah keeps looking at him, then suddenly, he pulls his hands back. “I’m not—I don’t—This isn’t just a sex thing.” 

Dan is both relieved and disappointed. His cheeks flash hot. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“No, I just mean—"

“It’s okay.” Dan laughs and shakes his head. “I get it.”

Noah is looking at Dan like he _doesn’t_ get it, but Dan isn’t sure he wants an explanation. 

“Didn’t you say you were filming something?”

“Oh. Yeah. That. No, I wrapped today. I’m officially between jobs myself. Free to wander Europe with you.”

That makes Dan’s mouth twitch, and god, he can’t believe how close he is to saying yes.

Noah looks like he’s going to put his hands back on Dan’s shoulders, but instead picks up his water bottle again. “You’re not the only one who’s afraid to go home,” he says quietly.

There’s a story there, possibly a long one, but Dan’s not sure he’ll be able to keep saying no if he hears it. “Can I use your bathroom?” he asks instead.

As he’s washing his hands, he inspects himself in the mirror. He looks awful. His eyes are swollen from jet lag and the tears wasted on Elliot. His body isn’t used to walking all night on cobbled streets, and his shoulders droop with exhaustion. He can’t believe anyone thought he was worth spending the night with in this condition, even if it was just talking. Noah latched on to him anyway, and he’s not sure what that says, that he tried to be perfect for Elliot and got unceremoniously dumped, and now he’s in the hotel room of someone who saw him like this and wants to spend two more weeks with him. And not even for sex, apparently.

Maybe it’s not the worst thing to put off getting his life in order by a week or two.

When he gets out of the bathroom, he doesn’t have to decide. Noah is passed out on the bed, snoring softly. 

“Hey,” Dan tries, but Noah doesn’t budge. 

Dan ponders staying, taking a nap next to him, taking him up on his offer. But they didn’t talk about what they’d do here, and he might not welcome waking up to Dan in his bed, even if he did invite him up. 

It’s probably for the best. Dan should get home. Call his agent. See about getting another round of auditions scheduled. Maybe Noah’s right, and a year from now, hindsight will help him understand why going home was the right decision.

* * *

Dan’s ringing phone interrupts his pacing in front of the Air Canada gate in Paris, where he’s still hoping to get called for a standby seat on a flight to Toronto. The face illuminating his screen is a photo he took on the bank of the Danube, when he impulsively saved a number he probably shouldn’t have. 

“Hey. It’s uh. It’s Noah,” Noah says when he answers, like maybe Dan has already forgotten.

“Noah. I wasn’t sure if you’d remember me today.”

There’s a huff on the other end of the call. “I remember.” Noah clears his throat. “I mean, not everything. I don’t remember you leaving.”

“I had to catch my flight home,” Dan says. 

“Home?” Noah sounds a little bit whiny, a little tired. Dan is, too.

“Yes. That’s exactly how you said it the first time I told you.”

“What about Vienna?” Noah asks. 

“Oh, yeah. I wasn’t going to hold you to that.”

“Did we, uh...”

Dan bites his lip to catch his smile from being audible over the phone. “You don’t remember?” Dan teases. 

“ _Daniel_ ,” Noah pleads. Dan wonders if he remembers that annoys him.

Dan’s voice softens. “You passed out while I was in the bathroom, so I thought I’d let you sleep.” 

“Daniel,” Noah starts, and then lets the silence hang. Dan closes his eyes. “Dan, what are you flying home for?” 

Maybe it’s not that annoying. It’s a lot, hearing his full name in Noah’s whisper-soft voice, with that faint edge of sternness. “Noah,” Dan says, imagines whispering it in his ear, close enough to feel his hair against his cheek. 

“Don’t get on the plane,” Noah says. “I’ll meet you in Vienna. Or Paris. Anywhere you want. We can plan a completely different trip. Screw that guy. Screw the rest of your itinerary. Let’s just—”

“Okay.” It bubbles out of him, and he can’t believe how good that sounds, how much he wants it once he finally says it. 

Noah laughs, then Dan laughs too. _God._

“I still have a hotel booked in Vienna, I think,” Dan says. Elliot didn’t cancel with Dan, so it seems unlikely that he concerned himself with canceling their travel arrangements. 

“Okay,” Noah says. “Send me the address and I’ll meet you in Vienna.”


	2. Vienna

Dan hates flying. He hates the wet coughs and the close quarters and the middling, penny-pinching service. He hates touching door handles and security bins that a thousand other people have smeared their germs all over. And he hates that he’s doing it in coach en route to Vienna instead of the nice business-class seat he’d splurged on to begin the process of licking his wounds from yet another failed relationship in the midst of a stalled out career. 

For this flight, he blames the average-looking half-Canadian that he followed around Budapest for a night and now can’t stop thinking about. He blames him for the extra time spent at the airport waiting for his rebooked flight to Vienna. For the time he spent watching a hockey musical movie starring said half-Canadian instead of napping like a sensible person. Maybe he needs to blame himself for that one, but he felt he needed to see what he’s about to be dealing with. (Which, _god_ , what kind of conclusion is he possibly supposed to draw from _Score: A Hockey Musical_?) This is probably the stupidest thing he’s ever done. He can’t believe how much he wants to do it.

When he gets to the hotel in Vienna, he spots Noah, who is conspicuously North American in a navy cap, sunglasses, jean shorts (Does he call them jorts? What if he calls them jorts?), and faded t-shirt, leaning up against the wall outside the front door to their hotel. He smiles and pushes off the stone, tilting his hat back on his head so the bill is almost vertical. And oh, this is definitely the stupidest thing he’s ever done.

“Hey,” Noah says with a nod. “You made it.”

“I did.”

Dan can feel the nerves in his smile and wills himself to get it together. They check in—thankfully Dan was in charge of accommodations so all the reservations are in his name—and head up a narrow set of stairs to a small room on the third floor overlooking the gigantic stone edifice of the gothic church across the street. 

There are technically two beds, in that they are separately outfitted with fitted sheets with a blanket folded atop each, but they are pushed together with a single headboard and absolutely zero gap for the Holy Spirit between them. 

“Right here in front of the eyes of God,” Noah says as he nods toward the church.

“We can see if they have a room with separate beds. Or. Um. Two rooms. If you want,” Dan says. 

“This is fine,” Noah says. And he supposes it is. It’s not like sleeping in the crack will be comfortable. It should be easy enough to keep to their respective sides. Probably.

He’s been saving up for a big vacation since he decided it would be his last year at MTV. But with the great location, amazing view, and the private bathroom, it feels decidedly like the kind of place you choose when romance is involved. He can feel Noah watching him as he opens his suitcase and takes out a change of clothes.

They’re going to be crammed together in here, too. He’s not sure what to make of that. Noah was affectionate in Budapest. Suggestive. He was also drunk. And Dan can still see his wide-eyed look, hear the higher pitch of his voice as he said, _This isn’t just a sex thing._

But then on the phone yesterday he asked if anything had happened between them, which implied that that’s a thing he considered. Or might consider while drunk at least. 

They have a few mutual friends in Toronto—everyone who works in film and television there shares a few mutual friends. They’ve probably been to a few of the same parties. None of their close friends overlap, so Dan doesn’t really know much about him. Maybe Noah is not really into guys. Or not… not open about it, if he is. Or maybe Dan is getting _way_ ahead of himself and Noah is just lonely and stuck between jobs and looking for a friend. Like Dan. 

Platonic is good. Platonic is safe. Platonic will keep him from getting attached.

When he comes out of the bathroom, Dan feels more human in a fresh change of clothes that doesn't feel like stale airplane air closing in around him. 

Noah looks up from his phone and Dan feels a little flushed from the way Noah lets himself look at Dan before he speaks. “Do you want food or do you want to rest? How’s the airport fatigue?”

“Food.” The speed of his answer makes Noah smile. He might as well learn now that food is always a priority. He can’t wait to eat on this trip.

“Okay. Hang on. One of my friends has been here a few times. She sent me a list.”

Noah digs through a small backpack and pulls out a piece of lined paper and a map. He frowns back and forth, propping a hip against a low cabinet. “Okay. Tapas, street food, Moroccan, classic schnitzels?”

“Let’s go with street food. I’m too hungry to wait to be seated and everything.”

“Cool.” Noah just rolls with it and tucks the paper of restaurant recommendations back in his backpack. He frowns at the map for a minute and leaves it on the desk, which seems like a bad idea. 

Dan has bigger concerns, though. “Is that what you’re wearing?” Dan eyes the shorts with a dubious eyebrow. 

Noah looks down at himself and smiles, like he knows what he looks like and he knows what Dan thinks about it and he doesn’t care. “Yeah.”

“Great.” Dan tries to cover his strained expression by nudging Noah toward the door. His stomach is too insistent to make a thing of it. 

They decide to walk, even though it’s a fair distance, and if Noah has to do some creative navigation to get them there, Dan wouldn’t know. They mostly go straight, encountering numerous streets veering off at diagonals. They pass shops and cafes surrounded by leafy planters separating the cobbled sidewalk from the outdoor dining area. 

Noah walks slowly, or maybe that’s just his short legs, but Dan doesn’t mind. It gives him time to take it in. He probably doesn’t remember the passionate speech he gave from the base of the statue in Budapest, about how being in a new city, breathing air somewhere new, will be like starting fresh. He was high, and drunk, and none of it made any sense, except now that they’re walking, he wasn’t wrong. Dan feels good. Like it’s easier to look ahead, to not know where he’s going, when he’s somewhere new, somewhere unfamiliar. 

When they leave the street, it’s to walk through a park that gives way quickly to a carnival. Dan eyes Noah warily. 

“Trust me,” he says, lifting a hand to Dan’s shoulder and dropping it before it makes contact. Dan thinks he can feel the weight of it anyway, which is ridiculous. 

They end up at a vendor serving something called lángos, which appears to be a funnel-cake type food disguised as an entrée, and honestly, Dan is not complaining. A couple at the nearest table has four of them and Dan’s mouth waters just looking at them. 

Noah seems to have perfected some kind of gesture-based ordering system from his time in Hungary, so Dan lets him order and they end up carrying four plates of doughy and delicious-looking food to a metal table and chairs a short walk away. 

“So do you remember anything we talked about last time, or should we start from scratch?” Dan asks, taking a bite of his meal.

“A little bit. You’re an unemployed television presenter, and I’m an unemployed actor.” Noah says it like it doesn’t bother him, but Dan thinks maybe it does. He isn’t even sure why. Just a feeling. 

“Why did you want to come really? I want the sober answer.”

Noah appears to actually consider it, which is an amount of deference Dan isn’t used to. Meanwhile, the tip of his tongue flicks along his upper lip to catch some shredded cheese. Dan tries and fails to divert his eyes.

“I don’t have anything lined up until the fall, and I guess over the last couple of days I started to dread the idea of going home and trying to stay busy, or trying to find the next thing to keep me busy.”

“Hm,” Dan hums. He understands that. He’s only been done at MTV for two months and already the chant of _what’s next what’s next what’s next_ is overwhelming. “I feel like being an adult is already much harder than it was supposed to be.”

Noah’s laugh is warm and rich, a movement that involves his chest and his shoulders and his chin. “It definitely is. But, what about you? Didn’t you quit to become an actor or something?”

“Sure. Not having much luck so far, though.”

“That’s right. I remember now. Auditions are hard. There’s no such thing as an easy audition.” Noah says it like they’re equals, which kind of floors Dan. Noah isn’t famous, really, but he’s a respected actor, known (to the people that know him) for his character work. Dan, on the other hand, would maybe like to act in something someday. 

“Well,” Dan starts, raising his nearly empty bottle of water, “here’s to whatever’s next.”

“And to two weeks of not having to figure it out, which I am really looking forward to,” Noah adds, tapping his soda bottle to Dan’s with a plasticky creak. 

Dan catches the smile in Noah’s eyes over the rim of his drink and decides to add Noah to the list of things he doesn’t have to try to figure out just yet. 

By the time they finish eating, the sun is starting to set. 

“Wanna ride it?” Noah asks, nodding toward the giant Ferris wheel rising high above the other rides in the park. 

Dan thinks maybe they need to have a talk about what does and does not constitute a fun activity on a vacation, but for now, they’re here, and the multicolored lights make Noah’s skin gleam in the dusk, and Dan is probably lucky he’s just asking to ride a Ferris wheel and not… something else, because he thinks he’d probably say yes to anything he asks for right now. So. “Yeah. Okay.”

The Ferris wheel is old, with big train car-like cabs built to match the historic wood ones, suspended on a gray steel frame. They board with about six other people and begin turning gradually higher and higher. The sun is just about to disappear behind the distant foothills and it drains the sky of color until it’s a deep indigo and the city below it transforms into maroons, peaches, and pinks. Dan is glad for the other people because otherwise this would be unquestionably romantic. 

“Wow,” Noah says next to him.

“Yeah.”

They look down at the city, the rest of the voices in the cab fading to background noise. Dan looks up to ask him a question and finds Noah watching him, and he doesn’t know what to do with that, or the way it makes him feel hot and prickly and shaken up, so he just turns his own eyes back to the city below. 

When they get off at the bottom again, they’re both quiet.

“I think I’m going to head back,” Dan says finally. “You can stay out if you want. Just keep track of your key.”

Noah’s mouth tightens in smile. “Nah. I’m kinda tired too. I had to be up before dawn to catch my train.”

Either Noah takes a wrong turn on the way back to the hotel or he takes them a longer way on purpose, because it takes twice as long to get back as it took to walk to the park. Dan doesn’t let himself consider that Noah is just trying to stretch the evening, taking advantage of the way music floats down the narrow streets from cafes and restaurants with their storefronts opened up to summer, carried easily on the cooler night air.

Noah uses the bathroom first so Dan doesn’t have to rush when it’s his turn. He does a double take when Noah takes off his hat, exposing a shock of curls, but he’s pretty sure he recovers nicely. He does the abbreviated version of his skincare routine anyway, because he’s starting to feel the pull of shifted plans and too little sleep in his bones. When he comes out, Noah is reading the _Lonely Planet Guide to Europe on a Shoestring_ , which is infuriatingly adorable. 

“Good book?” Dan asks.

“It’s a real page-turner,” Noah jokes, setting it on the nightstand. “I figured we’d just wake up when we wake up, if that’s okay with you.”

“Yeah. I’m not really a morning person, so.”

“Me either.” Noah tips his head like he’s going to say something else. There’s a flash of an expression Dan saw once before in Budapest, a temporary spark of something a little tender, a little raw. Noah turns off the light and Dan hears him sink down into the mattress, the blankets rustling less than a meter away.

“I’m glad I’m not doing this alone,” Dan confesses under the cover of darkness. 

Next to him, Noah sighs. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Me, too.”

* * *

Dan wakes up well before his alarm, with the room still coated in the hazy blue of predawn. Noah has flipped to his stomach and starfished in the night, and one of his feet is wedged under Dan’s calf. It’s too warm, bumpy, intrusive, and Dan’s dick doesn’t seem to care. If this is what his body is going to do when a single foot invades his space, it’s a good thing they didn’t wake up cuddling. 

“How long have you been awake?” Noah’s voice is raspy and his eyes are barely open and he flexes his foot without taking it back to his side, like he’s not at all embarrassed or concerned to find it pressed between Dan and the sheets. 

“I dunno,” Dan says. “It’s just jet lag. You can go back to sleep.”

He mumbles something like thanks and reaches a hand, patting blindly until he finds Dan’s chest, and then both his hand and his foot tuck themselves back under the covers on Noah’s side of the bed. Dan spends a long time thinking about that fucking foot before he falls back to sleep.

* * *

Later, once they both drag themselves out of the bed and downstairs for a late breakfast, Dan asks Noah what his plans are for the day, trying to sound casual. Dan is hoping to do some shopping and maybe eat someplace with a waitstaff, but he’s having a hard time just _doing_ that, when he could be learning more about this strange man who’s wormed his way along on this vacation and into his brain. 

“I think I’m headed here,” Noah says, handing him a brochure he picked up in the lobby. 

“The Museum of Applied Arts?” Dan asks, looking at the pamphlet.

The corners of his mouth tip up as he says, “You don’t have to come with me.” Which makes sense. They’re on vacation together but not like _together_ together. They don’t have to follow each other around.

“I—I want to,” Dan says. 

“Tell that to your face,” Noah says, laughing. He’s wearing a snug, striped t-shirt today, and it’s making it very hard for Dan to keep his face from doing all kinds of things. 

“I do,” Dan insists, trying to rearrange his features, because strangely, he does, even though he didn’t know the museum existed a minute ago. They still have plenty of time left in the trip for shopping and there was something about watching Noah on that Ferris wheel, the way he quieted and took it in. Dan wants to see if it happens again. He wants to see where it happens and what causes it and what happens afterwards if they don’t come back to the hotel and go straight to bed.

Noah nods. “Okay. Let’s go.” 

Noah bends over to tie on his white sneakers and pull on a zip-up hoodie, which means Dan has to switch from trying not to stare at his arms to trying not to stare at his ass. They make an odd pair, Dan doing his best to look stylishly European, and Noah doing his best to look like he doesn’t care how he looks. Strangers together in a strange city.

“So are you a big, um, museum person? On vacation?” Dan asks as they start walking. 

This time Noah brings the map, and he takes a minute to orient himself on the street corner before answering. 

“I don’t know what a ‘museum person’ is, but I like them, yeah. Especially applied arts, decorative arts, that kind of thing.”

“Why that specifically?” Dan asks.

Noah rubs at the pink rising up the back of his neck. “My parents are glass artists. Our house growing up was a gallery of things made by their friends. They were always talking about the design of the world around us, even little things like teapots and toothbrushes. They would say you can’t escape design. Anyway I got pretty good at tuning them out, but I still like looking at art that was made with the idea that people were supposed to use it. That’s always been interesting to me.”

“Hm,” Dan says, filing that away.

“What about you? Are you a ‘museum person’?” Noah asks, parroting his tone as he stops to check a cross street before turning right.

“Okay I don’t think I sound like that. But. Um. No? Not really. I mean I don’t mind them. I like contemporary art. But I’m more of a beach vacation person. Or like, a couple of city days and then the rest at a countryside villa.”

“Your entire itinerary is urban and landlocked,” Noah says, puzzled.

“That was. Yeah. I guess that was him. My—my ex.”

Noah gives him a look that should feel like pity, but it’s too complex for that. “I’m sorry. But for what it’s worth, there are some world-class museums in the cities on your itinerary.” His mouth quivers, breaking into a smile as Dan rolls his eyes, and then before he knows it, they’re standing outside the red and limestone edifice of the MAK. 

Noah buys both tickets, which reminds Dan they need to talk about that too—splitting the costs—and then frowns at a museum map for a few minutes. 

“Want to just head this way and see where we end up?” Noah asks, gesturing toward the nearest gallery. 

“Sure,” Dan says, so they do. 

As they work their way through galleries with bold graphics and interesting juxtapositions, Dan is glad he came. The museum has a gallery of Helmut Lang fashion and art and an entire room devoted to the design of spectacles, and Noah doesn’t act like the hour they spend in each is excessive in any way. The works in this museum feel relevant in a way long boxy galleries of oil paintings in gilded frames usually don’t. It’s like someone took all the reasons he loves fashion and extrapolated that to furniture and textiles and glassware. It’s fascinating. 

Noah takes a few photos of the stained glass pieces to send to his mom, and the smile when he looks at them to make sure they’re not too blurry or under-exposed is endearing. They may be a mismatched pair to look at, but the longer he spends with him, the more like himself he feels. That’s new. Exhilarating. And a little scary.

“So did you absorb an extensive knowledge of art history, growing up with artists?” Dan asks, trying to keep his voice soft in the quiet gallery as they walk along a display of several centuries of chairs. 

“Um, no. I think they knew better,” he says with a laugh. “You’re on your own for the history.”

“I guess we’ll have to remain blissfully in the dark then,” he says. 

Somewhere between the special exhibitions and the early dinner nestled into a red leather booth at a nearby café, the afternoon begins to feel distinctly date-like. It’s the quiet hush of the museum, the fact that Dan is doing something he probably wouldn’t be doing if he were with friends, and definitely wouldn’t be doing by himself. It’s the intimacy of the restaurant, the dull hum as glasses and napkins are positioned on tables in preparation for the dinner rush. It’s the way Noah keeps looking at him without saying anything, the soft smile when he does. It’s the way Noah stands closer than he did yesterday, the way he crowds into Dan’s space under the guise of seeing something better, or nearer, and the way sometimes he touches Dan when he does it. 

“What are you up to tonight?” Dan asks as they’re walking back to the hotel. He’s tempted to pop into some of the shops around the hotel if they’re still open, but he doesn’t want to miss whatever else Noah might have planned. 

“Um. I was thinking maybe instead of Zürich and Bern we could go to Venice after Munich. My parents have an artist friend that lives on Murano. We could um. Spend time on the waterfront. Maybe… go to the beach?”

If Dan were more confident, he might take the suggestion as a deeply personal one, one that says Noah is listening. He’s not that confident, but… “Venice sounds nice,” he says. 

“I don’t want to deprive you of the many fine museums Zürich has to offer.”

“Mmm, of course not.” 

“Okay. Then I might spend tonight looking at hotels and making sure we can rebook the travel arrangements. If that’s okay with you?”

“Yeah. I can help with that, if you want?” 

Noah’s answering smile is unbearably soft. 

They end up spending the evening crowded around a small computer at an internet café, where Noah occasionally gets up to fumble through drink orders. They get better flights home out of Florence than Venice, so they decide to split the last week between the two.

“Well, both of these are good for the price, but it’s either a private bathroom with a double bed, or separate beds with a shared bathroom down the hall,” Dan says, clicking on photos of the two options in Venice.

Noah nods thoughtfully, tapping his fingers on the laminate countertop. “Well. I mean by then we’ll probably be used to sharing a bed, so I guess I’d rather share a bed than a bathroom.” He bites his lip as he says it, and Dan turns back to the computer to hide his smile. 

“Same,” he agrees, and books the room on his credit card before Noah can pull out his wallet. 

It’s not until they’re tucking themselves into bed that night that Dan realizes booking two separate rooms didn’t even come up.

* * *

Dan can hear the rain from his bed. Or rather, from Noah’s bed, where he apparently migrated overnight, crack be damned. Now, Dan is not quite cuddling him. He thinks, if pressed, he could get away with calling it sidled up next to him. Noah’s hand, though. Noah’s hand is cupped around his thigh, and Dan doesn’t know what to call that. 

Dan shifts just a little, not sure what his objective is. On the one hand, he very clearly made the first move here. On the other, if Noah’s hand moves just an inch or two up—

“Is that rain?” Noah mumbles, and then his hand does start moving, smoothing up Dan’s thigh and down and up and down and _oh_. Noah pulls his hand back like he touched a lit burner, which is not far off, honestly.

“I’m sorry,” Noah says. “I didn’t—” He’s kind of irresistible, sleep stupid and blinking, trying to figure out how he woke up with a handful of Dan. It takes Dan longer than it should to scoot back to his side of the bed. 

“No, it was me. I mean not that. That was you. But I moved in my sleep. Before.”

“Okay,” Noah says. Their eyes catch, and Noah looks like he’s going to say something. Or do something. 

“I should take a shower,” Dan says, before he can decide. 

“Good. Yeah,” Noah says, clearing the last of the sleepy rasp from his throat. 

The rain is really just a light mist, so they buy umbrellas and Noah follows Dan through the shops near their hotel. At Mühlbauer hatmakers, Noah laughs as everything Dan tries drops around his ears, too big for his head. 

“I have a freakishly small head!” 

Dan should feel defensive, but he doesn’t. Noah’s laugh is too fond for that, and Dan is trying not to analyze it. The days in the city with him, and the nights in bed, have left Dan constantly, blisteringly wanting. But it’s also going so well, this platonic vacation thing, and he doesn’t want to fuck it up.

“You have great hair. Maybe you don’t need a hat,” Noah says.

“Just wait until we get to Italy. The humidity alone… And anyway, you have great hair, and look at you.” Dan nods pointedly at his baseball cap. 

“The cut for the miniseries makes me look like I got lost on my way to Sunday school.”

“You just need a little product,” Dan says, finally donning a straw pork pie hat that fits correctly. Whatever Noah was going to say gets lost in his swallow. 

“That one looks good,” he says, as if it isn’t written all over his loud, loud face. 

Dan buys the hat. 

The rain picks up while they’re eating lunch until it’s dumping out of the sky. They talk themselves into trusting their umbrellas to get them back to the hotel, but the puddles are unavoidable and the water seems to be coming from all directions.

“C’mere,” Noah says, pulling him under a deep set archway. The overhang helps, but it doesn’t stop the rain from blowing in. Forced to decide between himself and his shopping bag, Dan holds the shopping bag under the umbrella. 

Noah watches the decision-making process and then nudges closer, giving Dan shelter under his own umbrella. “Is that better?” he murmurs. He’s close enough for Dan to smell the breath mint he ate after lunch.

“Yeah. Thanks,” Dan says. 

Close like this, head tipped back to look at Dan, he can see how much shorter Noah is. Dan’s hair is dripping in his face but his hands are full of umbrellas and bags, and Noah reaches up to squeeze the drip of water out and push it back off his forehead. 

“Thanks,” he says again, more softly.

Dan can sense the kiss coming. Can see it in Noah’s eyes, fixed to his mouth. Can feel the air change until it’s dry and staticy despite the rain. Can hear the puff of Noah’s breath as he leans in. It’s so close to happening that Dan can almost taste it, until his nerves get the best of him.

“We shouldn’t,” he says. “I’m—I just got dumped. I’m… on the rebound, or whatever.”

“Okay.” Noah backs up as far as he can while still keeping them both under dry cover, which is not far. “You know what I never understood?” Noah asks after a minute. “In basketball, it’s actually a good thing to catch the rebound.”

Dan squeezes his eyes shut because of course he’s using sports logic. “Well, I don’t know anything about basketball.”

Noah laughs and doesn’t push it. 

“I’m sorry,” Dan says, and he really, really is. He wonders if some day he’ll look back on this and see this is how it should have happened. Or if he’ll just always have to wonder. 

“It’s okay,” Noah says, and he looks like he means it. He points down the road. “There’s a movie theater over there. Want to make a run for it?”

“Yeah,” Dan says.

They dodge puddles as they dash down the street and across to the movie theater, where they buy tickets to the first available movie. It turns out to be a budding romance between octogenarians, one of whom has six months to live. The movie is entirely in German, and neither of them knows the plot. They spend the first half of the film coming up with elaborate backstories for the characters and dissecting acting choices, but by the end, Dan is heavily invested and in tears. 

“I thought I was done crying on this vacation,” Dan says, dabbing at his eyes as they leave the theater. The rain has stopped, leaving everything wet and glimmering in the coming dark. “I was not expecting to be undone by two old people falling madly in love.”

Noah laughs. “I kind of love that about it. Like, lately I’ve been feeling like I’ve reached this point in my life where I’m supposed to get serious about things. No more fucking around, you know? But ever since meeting you, I haven’t felt that way. It’s kind of terrifying to let that go, but also… it’s kind of freeing.”

Dan glances at him, but Noah is lost in his own thoughts. He’s right, he’s so right, and Dan really wishes he’d let him kiss him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The movie they see is called _Anfang 80_ , or _Coming of Age_.


	3. Munich

Dan’s feet are on fire as he perches on the edge of his bed and slides them into his sandals. They spent most of the first day in Munich walking around the botanical gardens, and most of the second on a brewery tour at Hofbräuhaus, which was a lot of steps on top of the ones they already spent in Vienna. Today, at least, they’re spending part of the day at a bathhouse Noah found in his _Europe on a Shoestring_ book. It will be nice to relax. 

Relaxing has not been his strong suit so far. On the train from Vienna to Munich, Dan had to give up all pretense of being a laid back traveler. But Noah just watched with that fond smile of his as Dan sanitized the seats with the wipes he bought at the Paris airport and finished the treatment with a spray that got them scowls from the passengers in the seat in front of them. 

“I’m not getting sick when we are literally an _ocean_ away from home,” he said to Noah’s raised eyebrow.

Dan set an alarm for their anticipated transfer in Salzburg so they wouldn’t miss it, which turned out to be helpful if a bit excessive. Dan repeated the sanitization routine of the second train and sat folded in on himself until they were at least an hour down the tracks. Noah just watched the German countryside race by outside the window and let him be. How Noah understands, when they’ve only known each other a few days, when Dan needs space versus when he wants companionship, he doesn’t know. 

The Munich hotel was able to switch them to a room with separate beds at Noah’s request. Dan tried not to let his quick flash of disappointment show on his face. But the benefit is that he’s had three mostly-sound nights of sleep, mostly-free of thoughts of Noah. 

As tired and sore as he is, he’s having fun. A lot of fun. Noah is great to travel with, easy-going, open to trying new things, open to bailing when the new things they try turn out to be boring or otherwise awful. Dan can admit that he’s thought more than once about telling him he was wrong, that whatever this is, he’s in, just before kissing him on a moonlit street. But even if that never happens, he’ll be glad he did this with him. Glad he got to spend this time getting to know him. 

All that progress toward fun and relaxation evaporates when Noah tells him the bathhouse they’re going to doesn’t allow swimming suits.

“You said it was a public swimming pool.”

“Yeah. They’re unsanitary or something.”

“So what, we just… sit around naked like… like structured skinny dipping?” Dan’s voice is rising without his permission.

“I guess. At least on the bathhouse side.”

“That’s the side we’re going for,” Dan says, voice still too high as he hugs his jacket more tightly to his body.

Dan isn’t sure why he’s uncomfortable. It’s not like Noah is a super fit guy. And Dan did some preparation for the trip in anticipation of spending a lot of it naked with Elliot. But that was in the privacy of hotel rooms, and confidence is something Dan has to put on intentionally, usually with a designer label attached. 

Noah steps forward and rests his hands on Dan’s biceps. “Hey.” He ducks his head under Dan’s downturned gaze so he’s in his eyeline. “You look good in everything you wear. I’m sure your birthday suit will be no exception.” The corner of Dan’s mouth fights until it tugs into a smile. “But we can do something else today if you want to.”

Dan could suggest they split up, but after five nights with Noah, sharing a bed, sharing meals, watching sunsets from high atop Vienna and weaving through the centuries-old buildings of Munich, he can admit there’s something there. He just feels good when he’s with him. Noah has this sort of affability that’s contagious, that bumps up against all of Dan’s anxieties and smooths them. But beyond all of that, he just likes to watch as Noah takes in the world, loves how tiny details jog the most obscure anecdotes, loves all the minute expressions that flit across his face, loves the way his eyes go soft when he’s lost in the beauty of a place, the way he hovers closer when it gets dark. 

He can tell that Noah is working through something, too, although they haven’t touched on what. He loves that Noah’s way of working through something seems to be to just feel all the things he’s feeling. To sit in stillness and quiet and hurt. Dan is fucking floored that Noah seems content to do that with him along. But Noah seems to get that sometimes it’s nice to just be alone with someone.

Noah doesn’t have a single designer label in his suitcase, but he gives Dan confidence, just by being himself. So Dan heaves an aggrieved sigh, mostly for show. “Fine. Let’s go.”

When they get to the bathhouse, they’re given keys to lockers and a few helpful instructions about etiquette, towel pick-up and drop-off, and other rules of the facility. 

In the locker room, it takes everything Dan has not to watch Noah undress, not to follow the sparse whorls of hair across his chest and down to the edge of the towel wrapped around his waist. 

The hot soaking pool is under a vaulted ceiling, surrounded by columns and tile and statuary. Dan has never been anywhere like it, and it gives him somewhere to look besides Noah as he drops the towel and dips quickly under the water. 

Dan follows him in, the warmth of the pool soothing his aching feet and tired legs. 

“This is nice, huh?” Noah asks, flicking the tiniest amount of water at Dan, who is not amused.

He nods tightly, not yet ready to admit it’s not so bad. He gets used to it pretty quickly, though, sitting naked surrounded by naked people. It’s kind of sensual, but not in a sexy way. Noah closes his eyes and turns his head up toward the cooler air above the pool, exposing the long column of his throat. Maybe it is a little bit sexy.

Noah catches Dan staring. “What?”

Dan’s mouth is dry despite the humid surroundings as he searches for something to say. “I watched _Score_ in Paris. Waiting for my flight.” He doesn’t know why that feels important, but it feels so very important, suddenly.

Noah’s laugh is loud. It echoes off the ornate surroundings but Dan can tell there’s more behind it, something sore.

Noah moves closer as he lowers his voice. “What did you think of it?” he asks. Dan’s sure his face does a thousand things.

“There was some… very creative rhyming,” he says. 

Noah clamps down on his lips to keep from grinning. 

“And the kid who plays Farley. What a performance, huh?” Noah asks. Dan’s mouth jitters again. He likes him so much. 

Dan clears his throat and looks down at his hands sweeping back and forth in the water. “He was the best part. Which isn’t saying much,” he adds hastily, but his eyes are still soft.

“That’s fair.”

“Was it…” Dan almost doesn’t finish. “Was it supposed to be, um… quite so homoerotic?”

“What?” Noah asks. A drip of water runs down his neck and off his shoulder and Dan thinks about catching it with his tongue. He doesn’t, obviously. They’re having a serious conversation.

“I mean. I know he gets the girl but… he seems more excited about his new boyfriends.”

Noah’s cheeks turn a delightful, rosy pink, and then Dan watches him put his grin back in place. “Well, there are a lot of layers to a film like that.”

“Uh huh,” Dan grins.

“Lots of room for interpretation.”

Dan shifts so he’s facing him. He’s getting close to something and he wants to find it. “So is that what you want to do?”

“Yes. Definitely. Hoping to make a career out of hockey musicals.”

“I mean, why limit yourself? Curling musicals. Skiing. Maybe the whole Olympics in verse.”

“True,” Noah says, nodding. 

For a beat, for a minute, maybe longer, they just kind of smile at each other, steam rising off the water between them. Dan could let it go, but Noah is one of the most genuine people he’s ever met. The sarcasm is here for a reason. Dan waits for it.

“I had the best time making the movie. I was friends with some of the cast already, and we got to film in all these cool places, and every day during breaks, we’d just play shinny until someone yelled at us to stop. And I thought, if this is what making movies is, sign me up. But after TIFF, I just… It felt like a farce. There was all this pressure on the publicity and release, and then when the criticism started, everyone started pointing fingers. Suddenly it was on me and the other actors to sell it. Or save it I guess. I just…” 

Dan isn’t sure what to say, so he leans slightly to the right and nudges Noah’s shoulder with his own.

Noah blinks a few times, and shakes his head like he wasn’t expecting to go there. “I already had the Titanic job, and I thought it would help clear the questions out, make me sure again about things, but it didn’t really. I’ve wanted to be an actor since I was a kid. It’s just weird when the thing you love stops feeling like the thing you love.”

Dan doesn’t quite know that feeling. He hasn’t gotten what he wants yet. He’s afraid maybe he never will, but he’s just as afraid of getting what he wants and finding out he doesn’t want it.

Still. Dan reaches for his shoulder with his hand and squeezes. It’s different, skin on skin, wet skin on wet skin actually. He leaves his hand there a second too long. “I don’t know if this helps? But I worked red carpets at MTV. There are a few people who are really good at that promo stuff, but most people aren’t. I heard someone describe it once as the paperwork part of the job. You’re not—You’re not alone.” 

Noah nods and clears his throat. “Thanks. That does help a little.”

Dan leans a little bit closer. “You still like it though? Acting?”

“I do,” Noah says. “Not that anyone’s calling me for their next blockbuster.”

“Give it time,” Dan says, smiling. “Someone once told me that things happen how they’re supposed to happen.” 

Finally, Noah smiles too.

Quiet conversations fill in the space around them as they sit quietly. The water and tile and plaster of the hall turn every sound into a dull echo. It’s restful, almost like being underwater. A woman gets out of the pool across from them and hums as she wraps herself up in a towel.

“I wrote a song about it,” Noah breaks the silence through the steam.

“About _Score_?” Dan asks, trying to follow. “Does it feature forced rhymes as like, a meta thing?”

Noah laughs. “I don’t know. Not intentionally. No, it’s just about… the experience of it. TIFF and all the publicity and the pressure. I just kind of wanted to put my feelings somewhere.”

Sometimes Noah is so vulnerable it catches Dan off guard. His vulnerability pokes through Dan’s protective layers like a lance, makes it hard not to say all kinds of things he typically tries not to say out loud.

“That sounds a lot healthier than the places I usually put my feelings,” Dan says instead, inspecting his fingertips for pruning before dipping them back under the water.

Noah laughs. “As you experienced the first night we met, I put my feelings in other places, too.”

Dan tips his head and looks at him quizzically. “Maybe sometime when we get back you could play it for me.”

Noah takes a breath in; Dan can see his chest expand through the surface of the water. It’s the first time either of them have acknowledged they might keep in touch when they get home. 

“I’d like that,” he says quietly. 

As they circulate to the sauna, it gets harder and harder not to look at what Noah is working with. He’s short, but he has huge hands and feet, and moves like a much bigger guy. 

In Venice, they’ll be crammed together on a double bed, and Dan doesn’t even remember why he’s keeping him at arm's length. This doesn’t feel like a rebound, it feels like a restart.

“Any ideas for tonight?” Noah asks, and it takes Dan a minute to disconnect the question from his daydream about the bed waiting for them in Venice.

“Um. Well. A friend of mine told me about a club. I was thinking of checking it out. Is that—would you maybe want to come with?”

“Yeah. Sounds fun.” Noah doesn’t seem like someone who frequents clubs, and really, he should be sick of Dan by now. But for some reason, he’s not. 

“Okay. Good.” They’re both quiet for a minute, smiling to themselves, until Dan leans closer and lowers his voice. “Um, I feel like I should… It’s not a gay club, exactly, but it’s not _not_ that. Is that—I mean—”

Noah grins. “That’s fine.”

Dan nods, ducking his head. When he looks back at Noah, Noah’s eyes dart back up, fast but too slow. Dan smirks at him, letting him know he was caught, and props a foot up on the bench to adjust himself. And then he looks at his cuticles so Noah can look wherever he wants.

Later, as they’re putting their clothes back on, and Dan is only looking at Noah’s ass because it’s in his natural line of sight as he zips up his own pants, Noah stands up abruptly.

“Um, I’m just realizing I didn’t pack anything to wear to a club,” he says.

“I thought you’d never ask,” Dan says, closing the rented locker decisively.

“I didn’t ask,” Noah laughs. 

“You didn’t have to,” Dan says, patting his shoulder and walking toward the exit. He has no idea how to navigate Noah naked in a sauna, but shopping is another matter entirely.

Dan has a stilted conversation with a lot of gestures with someone at the front desk who looks like they know their way around men’s fashion. 

“Okay, I got the name of a place,” he says, and this time it’s his turn to lead the way as they wind through the narrow streets trimmed with distinguished stone and stucco edifices. 

They wind up at Hirmer, a huge, gabled five-storey building with bushy red floral arrangements in the boxes below every window. The place is bigger and more like a department store than he expected. Dan frowns at the store map for a few minutes before giving up on the German and heading for the curving staircase. He finds the floor he’s looking for and starts examining the jeans on display.

He catches Noah examining the price tag and says, “This is on me.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Noah says, even though Dan suspects he does if he wants to stay in this price range. He still has a healthy amount of savings from MTV, and honestly it will be worth it for a night without the cuffed denim cut-offs.

“I want to,” Dan says. “32/32?”

“Yeah. Sounds about right.” 

Dan decides to grab a smaller pair too, just in case he can talk Noah into them.

Dan weaves through the displays, selecting a few pairs of jeans and a couple of shirts. Noah has one of those necks that looks great in a button-down, so he opts for that over a jacket and t-shirt combination.

“Try them on and show me what you like best,” he says, sending Noah into the dressing room.

The rustling and muttering coming from the dressing room makes Dan smile. “Are these supposed to be this tight?” Noah asks, opening the door still in his white undershirt and a pair of jeans that are _really_ tight. 

Dan’s mouth quirks but he quickly sobers to examine the fit of the pants. Noah snags the corner of his lip in his teeth as Dan moves closer, nudging to turn him. 

“Maybe just turn around so I can see the back,” he says shamelessly. He knows Noah isn’t going to be comfortable in these all night, but that doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy them now.

Dan lays his hand gently on Noah’s hip to tell him he can turn back around.

“Well, I think they look, um. Really great,” Dan says quietly, “but I want you to be comfortable. Why don’t you try on the others.” 

The second pair is a unanimous fail, tight around his thighs and calves but too straight in between. The third pair is merely snug, and Dan has a hard time keeping from blatantly checking Noah out. Noah turns without being asked, and Dan touches him again, lower on his hips this time. There’s no way he’s going to make it to the end of this trip without doing something stupid. He might not even make it to the end of the night.

Dan clears his throat and says, “I think we have a winner.”

“I’ll try on the shirts,” Noah says, smiling over his shoulder.

Noah vetoes two of the shirts in the dressing room—one is too baggy and the other is too scratchy. 

“C’mon, Goldilocks, let me see the next one,” Dan says. 

He emerges with the third, looking ridiculously hot but still _him_. He took his undershirt off, and Dan can see a knob of his collarbone between the buttons. 

“I like this one,” Noah says, and he’s so cute, so tentative, like he’s afraid he’s wrong.

“Me too.” Dan smiles in the mirror from behind him and smooths his hands along the stretch of Noah’s shoulders, adjusting the seams so they fall where they should. “Can I?” he asks, taking the unbuttoned sleeve from Noah.

He nods, holding out his arm so that Dan can roll it into tight cuffs. Dan comes around so he’s facing him to do the other sleeve, his quick fingers smoothing and pulling until the cuffs are even below his elbows. The cotton fabric is thick, giving it a nice structure, and etched with a subtle pattern.

Dan smooths the fabric across his shoulders again, trying to keep his eyes on the seams instead of Noah’s, which are blown open and threatening to pull him in. His hands hesitate on Noah’s chest, and he looks up. He’s so close, and it feels so close to a shift.

“If you’re comfortable…” Dan says, his hands careful as he unbuttons the second button on Noah’s shirt. 

Noah nods.

Their eyes lock as Dan toys with the opening at his neck, positioning it in place. Dan knows they’ll be in a club, and dancing, and that the shirt is unlikely to stay exactly where he puts it, but then he’ll have to stop touching Noah, and he’s not sure he ever wants to stop touching Noah.

His thumb ghosts over Noah’s skin, along the end of his collarbone, and Dan thinks for merely the fiftieth time _today_ about kissing him. Noah seems to be on the same page, glancing at Dan’s lips and then his eyes and then back at his lips. “Daniel…” He doesn’t finish, and Dan really wishes he could pinpoint how Noah saying his whole name like that went from annoying to charming to devastating.

A salesperson knocks on the frame of the door to the fitting rooms, interrupting their… whatever was about to happen, and Dan coughs while Noah does his best to say in a German-English hybrid that they’re all set. 

Noah disappears into the fitting room to change, and Dan takes the clothes to the cashier, and they don’t talk about it. 

Noah is quiet over dinner, and they don’t talk about it. 

They get back to the hotel, and Noah opts to take a nap while Dan starts getting ready, and they don’t talk about it. 

Dan knows he’s the one that has to start it. He’s the one that’s been working so hard to convince them both that this isn’t what it is. What does he say, though? ‘Can this be a sex thing afterall?’ is not even close to what he wants. He wants to see what it’s like to kiss Noah, to see what kinds of sounds he makes when they’re in bed together, to see if he always has an answer for everything or if Dan can steal his answer away with his mouth. He wants to hold his hand when they explore and kiss him sometimes when he’s looking at something with that gorgeous, open-eyed wonder. How does he ask for all of it and not settle for part of it if that’s all Noah wants to give?

Noah knocks on the bathroom door while Dan is finishing his hair. 

“Come in!” Dan says. 

“Just came to get my toothbrush,” Noah says. He’s already dressed, sleeves rolled up, extra button unbuttoned, jean pockets empty and laying perfectly. He looks amazing. When Dan doesn’t move or say anything, because he can’t, Noah pokes his shoulder with a small smirk and says, “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Dan croaks. 

Noah brushes his teeth and Dan does his best to finish styling. A loose curl drops over Noah’s forehead as he’s rinsing out the toothpaste in the sink. 

“This is going to drive me crazy,” he says, trying to tuck it back in with the rest of them. 

“Can I?” Dan asks, holding up a bottle of styling cream from his toiletry kit. 

Noah nods, and Dan works in a small amount, trying not to mess too much with what Noah has going naturally. Noah doesn’t watch his hands in the mirror, he watches his face, which feels as intimate as anything they’ve ever done. 

Dan finishes, wiping his hands on a towel, and Noah turns, worrying the hem of Dan’s t-shirt between his thumb and first finger. “Daniel,” he says, looking up at him from under his lashes. “What are you afraid of?”

He wasn’t expecting that. Doesn’t know how to answer it. “I don’t know,” he says, voice thin and reedy. 

“Okay,” Noah says, and steps carefully out of Dan’s space and out of the bathroom. They leave for the club, and they don’t talk about it.

The main room of the club is a haze of darkness pierced by spotlights in red, purple, and green, sweeping across the space and occasionally catching dancers on pedestals around the perimeter of the dance floor. The bar forms a long U-shape at one end with the DJ’s stage opposite, glowing from every surface.

“C’mon,” Dan says, “Let’s start at the bar.”

They get drinks and make their way to the dance floor. Dan isn’t a great dancer, but it turns out Noah isn’t either. They start a safe distance apart until the floor starts to fill, pushing them closer. They dance for an hour, taking breaks to refresh drinks. Dan can tell Noah is trying to keep a respectable distance, but the occasional brush of hips and bump of shoulders is inevitable in the crowded club. Dan starts alternating drinks with water, because they need to talk in the morning, and he doesn’t want to be hungover when they do.

A guy even shorter than Noah, and even more broad across the shoulders, works his way in between them. He has bottle-blond hair and sharp, blue eyes, and after about ten minutes, Dan can tell which one of them he’s here for, and it isn’t him. 

Noah grins at him over this guy’s shoulder. “I think he likes my shirt,” he says with an almost-wink.

Dan thinks he’s joking, but he’s not interested in third-wheeling whatever this is and he could use another drink anyway. “I’m going to get us another round,” he says, having mastered the German phrase for ordering one of the bar’s signature martinis before they came. 

Noah is alone when Dan returns. “Thanks,” he says, taking his martini.

“Where’s your friend?”

“His name is Klaus.”

“No it isn’t.”

“It is, and I told him that guy over there was checking him out,” Noah points through a group of people to where Klaus is now thoroughly engaged. 

“I’m trying not to be offended that he assumed you were fair game,” Dan scowls after him. 

Noah takes a long drink and sets it on a nearby ledge. “Well. You’ve barely touched me. Maybe he thought we were strangers.”

“I’ve touched you,” Dan says defensively. He knows he’s playing right into Noah’s hands, and he doesn’t care. He wants to see what his hands can do.

“Not by choice,” Noah says.

“I’ve been touching you all damn day by choice,” Dan says. 

Noah’s mouth tenses in frustration. “I can’t figure out what you want.”

“I want a career! I want to make things I’m proud of!” The music changes so he has to shout over it, which makes him sound like he’s throwing a tantrum, and Noah comes closer like he can tell how much Dan wants to be able to say the next part quietly in his ear. “I want you. I want you so much that I’m afraid of losing sight of everything else I want.”

Noah’s hand grips warmly at his waist. “There. Was that so hard?”

“Yes,” Dan says, but he’s grinning.

“Daniel?”

“Yes?”

“Touch me.”

“O-Okay,” Dan says, and then he does. 

It’s just his hands at first. They rest tentatively atop Noah’s shoulders, and then Noah tugs him closer by the waist until his arms are wrapped behind Noah’s head and Noah’s arms are wrapped behind his back. The music is heavy now, a kind of low synthesized beat that’s impossible to dance to without practically grinding their hips together. It’s nothing like before, nothing like the accidental touches and shy smiles. The way Noah is looking at him now makes him feel like the heavy bass coming from the DJ table is his heart spinning right out of his body. 

The song changes, the underlying beat picking up speed. Dan looks toward the DJ and then back at Noah. The music feels like it’s getting faster, or maybe time is slowing down. They’re still dancing, but it almost doesn’t even feel like he’s moving, he’s so close to Noah, so suddenly surrounded by him. Noah smells like his travel body wash and the hotel’s shampoo and new clothes and sweat and his grapefruit-basil martini and as he leans in to kiss him, he tastes like it too. 

He’s not even sure who started it. Just that one minute they are dancing, and the next they are kissing, and kissing some more, and he hopes there isn’t a moment after that, that this can just be it from here on out, because Noah’s kisses are sweet and hot and demanding and _fun_. Dan can’t get enough of him, even though he’s swamped. The feel of Noah’s lips moving against his is like their own private dance, their own private beat. 

Noah teases his lower lip with his tongue, and Dan opens like he’s starved and lets him in. Dan tucks his hand between the collar of Noah’s shirt and his neck to tilt his head so he can have more of him, and still it feels like it might never be enough. 

Dan traces Noah’s jaw with his thumb and he can only feel the low moan that escapes; he can’t hear it over the music. Which is when Dan remembers where they are. 

He pulls back, just enough to catch his breath, to say something. What does he say?

“Your place or mine?” Noah says, and Dan laughs. Noah kisses him again, less frantic this time, and Dan breathes out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. 

“You’re okay with this?” Dan asks. 

Noah tips his head back and groans. “Yes. Please.” 

Dan kisses him again, a promissory note. “Then let’s go.”

They walked to the club, but Dan spots a cab stand and decides it’s worth it to get back faster. He throws the driver too many euros when they hop out of the car to save time settling up. 

They stumble up the stairs to their room and the process of getting out of clothes into the bed is not much more coordinated. Dan reaches out a hand to stop Noah from unbuttoning his shirt, though. 

“Wait. Let me,” he says. He picks up more or less where he left off earlier that day, one slow button at a time. He spreads it open and skates his hands across Noah’s chest. “If that guy hadn’t interrupted us today…”

“You would have what?” Noah asks, half challenge, half tease. 

“I don’t know. Something.”

“Something. You can do better than that, Daniel.”

Dan grins. “Kissed you, for starters.” 

He does it now, pressing Noah up against the wardrobe. 

“I wanted you to,” Noah says. “The number of times I’ve wanted to…”

Noah doesn’t say what he wanted to do—his mouth is too busy with Dan’s neck—but Dan assumes he’s showing him. 

The buzz from the drinks at the club is wearing off but Dan’s body is still thrumming, like the heavy bass is still coursing through him, a steady chant of wanting

“Can I—on the bed?” It’s the closest Dan can get to a sentence.

“Yeah. Yes. Yeah,” Noah says, pushing off his shirt and his underwear on the way, and then stripping Dan of his sock that he missed in his rush to help Noah. For a long time, they trade slow kisses, letting their hands explore. Noah seems to be experimenting, teasing his nipples, scratching lightly at the soft skin of his belly, dipping his tongue into the crease of his hip, twisting his palm around the head of his cock, just to see what Dan likes best. Dan isn’t sure what the results of the experiment are, because all of it feels so right, so exactly what he needs, so precisely what he wants. 

“This okay,” Noah asks, lining them up so he can fit them both in his hand. 

“Yeah,” Dan says, fighting not to thrust up against him. 

“Wanna help?” he asks. “You’re, uh… kinda long.”

Dan’s laugh is muffled against Noah’s shoulder. “Yeah. Here.” It feels like he has to locate his hands before he can move one of them to lick it and then close around the top of Noah’s. 

It takes a little bit of coordination, some grunted directions between kisses and lazy thrusts and laughter, and kisses through the laughter, but finally they’re moving and then it all falls away, everything except Noah’s hand around them, his dick sliding slick and wet with precome against his own, the way Noah’s body feels, heavy and compact and tight against his, and the way his mouth feels, the way his teeth sink into his shoulder as he comes with a moan that Dan wants to hear again. Dan keeps thrusting and Noah doesn’t let go until Dan’s come coats the space between them. 

“Fuck,” Noah says, and kisses him again. “ _Fuck_. Dan.” Noah’s breathing is heavy and he’s smiling and Dan can’t wait to do that again. He hopes they can do that again. He feels more relaxed than he’s felt in _years_ and it was just his hand around him, his dick against him. Fuck.

“Be right back,” Noah says when he goes to the bathroom for a cloth to clean them up.

“Thanks,” Dan says. 

“Do you want to sleep in my bed? It’s clean.” 

This one isn’t too bad, and sleeping on a twin with another grown man leaves something to be desired, but since that man is Noah… “Yeah. Sounds good.”

Noah folds back the covers. “Room side or wall side?”

Dan wonders if it’s better to risk being wedged between the wall and the bed or falling onto the floor, and opts for the former. “Wall.” 

Noah waits until Dan is in place and then crawls in. Noah’s hand finds his hip in the dark, and he rubs a small circle as he leans in to kiss him. 

“Should we talk about this?” he asks, still close enough for his nose to press into Dan’s cheek. 

“Mmm,” Dan agrees, but he also really just wants to be kissing him again, so he does. Noah’s lips part on a sigh, his breath hot against Dan’s mouth, and his hand shifts from Dan’s hip to his ass, squeezing. 

They stay like that for a long while, kissing, smiling at each other in the dark, working each other over with their hands, whispering soft requests, until Noah is hard again and Dan has his mouth around him. 

This time they fall asleep in the mess, too tired to move. Tomorrow morning they fly to Venice. They can talk then.


	4. Venice

Once they check into the hotel in Venice, Noah leads him over bridges and down alley-like streets until they’re facing a narrow storefront with Pizza Al Volo in blocky letters on a faded gray awning, a recommendation from his parents’ friends. It’s shabby, with graffiti on grime below the windows, but the number of people coming out with giant pizza boxes bodes well. There’s nowhere to eat inside so they find a bench in the stone-paved plaza in front of the building and open the box. The pizza is huge and delicious, the smell of pepperoni and melted cheese overwhelming his senses. 

Dan looks up to see Noah watching him with a soft smile. 

“Looks good,” he says, still looking at Dan.

“Mmm, yeah. Yes,” Dan fumbles and takes a bite of his slice so he doesn’t have to think of anything else to say just yet. Neither of them slept well, and they both crashed on the plane. He feels like they need to talk, but he’s not even sure about what. Noah kissed him that morning before they left the hotel for their flight, but he’s barely touched him since, and Dan feels vaguely like Noah is waiting for him to say something. 

They finish the whole pizza and Noah suggests they walk it off for a bit. They poke their heads into little shops. Dan buys a few postcards at a stand near the Piazza San Marco and a dumb refrigerator magnet for Stacey. They cross the Ponte dell’Accademia and Dan takes out his camera to snap pictures looking down the Grand Canal. 

Noah leans against the railing, watching. 

“Do you always case the place like you’re going to rob it before you take a photo you like?” Noah asks.

“I’m trying a thing this guy taught me in film school, about framing.”

“I see. You’d probably make a good director,” Noah says good-naturedly as Dan deletes the last photo and retakes it with a different light setting. “Kind but extremely particular.”

It doesn’t sound like a compliment but it looks like one, based on Noah’s face. Dan smiles softly to himself. He almost tells Noah he wants to do that someday. Maybe. 

Then he sees Noah take his own photo out of the corner of his eye. 

“Absolutely not,” Dan says. “Delete it.”

“Delete it?” Noah asks, baffled.

Dan takes a deep breath. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “I just… um. I know you’re not gonna put the photos out there or whatever. I just—It makes me—Sorry.” He shakes his head and his shoulders in one movement. “It’s fine.”

Noah looks at him like he’s making his own study of angles and lighting. 

“It’s a good picture,” he says, holding up the phone so Dan can see it. It’s a great picture, actually, which is saying something because Dan normally hates pictures that he doesn’t know are happening. Dan looks… He looks happy. Relaxed. Pink from the sun and the company. The corners of his mouth tighten in a barely-a-smile, and Noah smiles at him and puts the phone away. 

“Fine. I don’t know why you want a weird picture of me but whatever,” Dan says. 

“For the story, obviously,” Noah teases. “About the total hottie I had a fling with in Europe.”

Dan feels his face burn at that. God, Noah should not be able to say half the shit he says and have Dan still _reacting_ to him like this. Dan wants to kiss him, but he’s not sure if they’re doing that. God, they really need to talk.

“Obviously,” he says, and tries not to ask him what his version of their story is going to be.

“C’mon, I saw this place in my guidebook I think you’ll like,” he says. 

Noah pulls his guidebook out of his bag to find the exact page with it’s little inset map. Dan suspects the whole point of taking out the book is not really to find the place, since he knows Dan hates being seen with someone in denim shorts who wields a guidebook. Dan gives him the put-upon sigh he’s looking for. 

“Lead the way,” he says. 

The guidebook is right about the place, as it has been about several places. The little bookstore is worth a visit. Every wall is stuffed with books arranged sideways and stacked on surfaces, in boats and bathtubs and barrels. Several cats have burrowed into the shelves and piles, taking a sleepy afternoon snooze. 

“Apparently it’s prone to flooding,” Noah explains when Dan asks about the tubs and boats.

It’s dry today, thankfully, and they peruse the heaving shelves quietly. Noah flips through a section of used books in English while Dan opens weathered but unused leather-bound journals stacked on a table. He finds one near the bottom that’s in better condition; the leather is smooth with only the slightest wear on the corners. He wonders if it belonged to someone who didn’t use it, or if it’s just been waiting here on this table for unknown years, unwanted. If he buys it, he wonders if he’ll end up using it or resign it to the same blank fate.

He’s been toying with the beginnings of an idea for a while now, ever since he was at MTV, but on this trip he decided to stop telling himself the idea is dumb. Even if people have done the riches to rags story before, they haven’t done it the way he wants to. He needs to think about it, make some notes, decide the shape of the family, their story. He could start now, if he had a book like this in which to do that.

He tucks the journal under his arm and rejoins Noah where he’s flipping through a paperback.

“Find something?”

“Dunno.” Noah holds it up, but Dan doesn’t recognize the title. “Looks interesting.” 

Dan notices something else poking out of the pile in front of him, though. A cover he’d recognize anywhere. 

“This is my favorite book,” he says, pulling out _Autobiography of Red_ , surprised to find it here. 

“What’s it about?” Noah asks.

“A monster who uses art to deal with himself,” Dan says, too chipper. Noah tips his head in that way he has of reading right through Dan’s tone. 

“Is it… happy?” Noah asks, and when Dan hesitates, he adds, “Never mind, don’t spoil it.”

They peruse for a while longer. Before they leave, Dan buys the journal, and Noah buys _Autobiography of Red_. 

They head to a nearby falafel place next, after seeking recommendations from the shop owner. Dan still maintains that local recommendations will beat the guidebook every time, and takes no counter arguments along the lines of, “Where do you think they got selections for the guidebook?” 

All the walking has them both hungry, so they don’t say much for the first fifteen minutes. It doesn’t feel weird, though, eating in silence, walking in silence, browsing in silence. 

“So earlier, when you didn’t want your picture taken…” Noah starts, not entirely unexpectedly. Noah does this, ruminates on something until he has a chance to bring it up again. 

“Oh. Yeah, sorry. Ignore that,” Dan says, waving him off.

“I plan to,” Noah says with a grin, teasing out Dan’s answering smile. “But are there other… rules? Should we talk about, I don’t know, ground rules or something? For… this.”

“Mm, yes. There’s don’t fall in love with me. That’s a classic,” Dan says. He’s joking, but not entirely.

“Is this where I say, ‘Too late,’ and someone cues a montage of us kissing on a gondola as we glide past Venetian landmarks?” Noah’s smile stays steady, and Dan blows out the breath he’s been holding. 

“Very funny,” Dan says, easy as anything, except for the way they both shift in their chairs.

“I thought so,” Noah says. He wipes his hand on the napkin in his lap and takes a deep breath. “But if I wanted to… kiss you. Or touch you. Like outside the hotel and stuff. At some point. Is that… would that be against the rules?”

Dan drops his fork with a clatter and has to pick it back up.

“Please do.” Noah just smiles at him and takes another bite of falafel. 

Noah doesn’t kiss him right then, but later that night, as they walk between the ornate colonnade of the Doge’s Palace and the waterfront, Noah pulls them up short. 

“Hey,” he says softly, taking both of his hands. 

“Hey,” Dan echoes.

And Noah kisses him.

This one feels different. Less caught up in the moment and more premeditated, a kiss from someone who, romantic montage jokes aside, knows Dan wants to be kissed along the picturesque streets of Venice, even if it’s just a fling, just a thing they’re doing while they’re on this trip together. Noah kisses him like he understands him, like he knows that fling or not, most people don’t get this much of Dan. Like he considers it a gift to be trusted.

When they get back to the hotel, they’re mostly quiet as they drop their clothes over the arms of the small chair in the corner and find each other in the dim lights glinting off the canal outside their window. Noah guides Dan backwards onto the bed with a steady hand on his hip. It’s not as messy as in Munich, not as determined to get everything in in case one of them came to their senses. 

“I have—I have lube. Condoms. If we want them,” Dan says. He tucked them into the drawer of the nightstand when they settled in, just in case. He reaches blindly until his hand finds the knob and pulls it open. 

“So prepared,” Noah whispers against his skin, but Dan can hear the smile in his voice. 

Noah takes his time, brushing his fingertips through Dan’s hair as he kisses him. His sparse stubble scrapes against Dan’s neck and shoulders as his lips work their way down.

Noah takes Dan’s cock in his hand and strokes it without enough pressure or speed to really get him going. It’s lazy and soft and _wonderful_. 

“What do you want?” Noah asks, his eyes drifting to the supplies in the open drawer. 

“You,” Dan says, combing his fingers through his hair, twisting the beginnings of curls around his fingers. “Anything. We don’t have to use them.”

Noah lifts his head and looks at him as his hand tightens around his dick, and Dan really means it. He’d give him anything. He’d take Noah just like this every day for the rest of… for the rest of the trip.

Noah buries his face in the crease of Dan’s hip, spreading wet kisses and blowing cool breaths over his overheated skin. He presses Dan’s leg to the side to make more room for himself, and then he noses along his cock, where it’s dying for his attention. 

“And if I want to use them?” Noah asks. 

“Use whatever you want.”

His answering smile is coy, and Dan gets a flash of how difficult it’s going to be to say goodbye to this in a week. Noah doesn’t reach for the drawer. Instead he puts his mouth everywhere but where Dan wants it and still Dan has never had to try so hard not to come. He squeezes around his cock and Noah bats his hand away. 

“Getting close?” he asks, backing almost all the way up except for his fingers, tracing long lines from knee to groin up the inside of his thighs. 

“Yeah.” 

“What if I want a little more time?” Noah says, cradling Dan’s jaw to kiss him. 

“We can’t all have everything we want,” Dan says biting back a groan as Noah rubs a dry finger over his hole. 

Noah pouts, which makes Dan laugh, which makes Noah’s pout crack open into laughter. 

He kisses him again sweetly and cups his face in his hands. “Tonight, I really just want you in my mouth again. Is that okay?”

“Mmm-hmm.” Dan clamps down on his smile and closes his eyes when he nods because this feels so fucking good, being with someone who takes him seriously enough to laugh with him like this, skin to skin. Who wants to draw it out when they fuck, who can make him wild with just his hands on his knees, and then ask, so tenderly, if he can give him a blowjob.

Dan’s need has become a little less pressing with the intervening conversation, but he swells hard and fast in Noah’s mouth, and before long, he’s dragging his fingers over Noah’s shoulders and through his hair, trying not to push him down, trying not to press up into the lush wet heat. 

Noah pops off and says, “Sweet Jesus, Daniel, just move how you want to,” and picks up where he left off. 

Dan starts laughing again, he can’t help it, and soon Noah is laughing too, the vibration of it sending shockwaves up Dan’s body before he has to release him, presumably to avoid choking.

“Stop laughing,” he says, tickling Dan right above his hip. “Stop.” Behind his knee. “Stop.” His armpit. Dan laughs harder each time until he’s writhing and Noah levers himself up to kiss him, trading laughter and warmth. “I’m trying to please you,” he murmurs against his lips.

“Do I look displeased?”

“You look very pleased.” 

He kisses him again with that smug curve of a smile, a sound, full kiss, and returns to his dick with ruthless precision. Dan still feels like he could laugh, like he might at any moment, he’s so fucking happy and Noah’s mouth feels so fucking good. Then Noah sinks down lower and swallows and Dan can’t feel anything but the orgasm raking through him.

* * *

As promised, they spend the next day on the island of Murano at a glass studio run by sisters who are friends of Noah’s parents. Gianna, the younger sister, is supposed to meet them at a dock a short ways from their hotel to give them a lift to their studio. 

They’re up earlier than they’ve grown accustomed to, with Dan still feeling all the steps over the bridges the day before and the marks Noah left him on in the night. 

“I might need coffee,” Dan mumbles, squinting at his face in the mirror. 

Noah kisses one of the marks on his shoulder and nods. “Me too.”

They try to rush their routines to make time for coffee next to the florist where Noah buys a bouquet of flowers for their hosts. They manage to get to the dock only a couple of minutes late. 

Gianna kisses Noah on each cheek when he hands her the flowers and takes the liberty to pinch his face between her hands. 

“I saw you last you were this big!” she says, holding her hand at shoulder height. “Although he’s not much bigger.” This last thing she says to Dan with a shrug like ‘what can you do?’ Dan stifles a laugh. 

Dan introduces himself and Gianna gives Noah a very impressed look. “Look at him. Very nice,” she says with a grin.

Noah laughs again but doesn’t bother to realign her assumptions, which is… interesting. 

They climb onboard and Gianna starts up the motor, pulling away from the dock with a frightening lack of checking of blind spots.

“You’re sure she’s trustworthy?” Dan asks, unable to contain his nerves.

“Positive,” Noah says, and then he stretches his arm behind Dan on the back of the vinyl seat and squeezes his shoulder like it’s easy to just… be together.

And well, it is. 

Murano is close to Venice and popular with tourists, but once they get away from the main area of shops and the glassmakers who give tours and demonstrations, it feels like they’ve finally stepped away from the crowds for the first time since Budapest. The studio is like he imagines every studio should be, a little bit filmy with the process of constantly making and littered with projects half-assembled in the corners. 

Gianna is the only one who speaks English, so she gives them a tour and explains the process while Rosa transfers glass from the furnace to the pipe. They’re working on a large commission, a light fixture for one of the boutique hotels in town. Dan has seen glass-blowing before, but only as a demonstration. He didn’t realize how quickly the artists move when they’re working on something and not explaining as they go. It’s remarkable to see the molten glass turn into fragile leaves and stems with rapid precision. Noah stands behind him, arm wrapped around his waist, chin hooked around the curve of his shoulder. It’s too hot for this, but Dan weaves their fingers together and holds him close.

Rosa’s wife Mia fixes a huge pot of spaghetti and serves it with flakey bread on the picnic table in the small courtyard between the furnaces and the workroom where they assemble pieces with hardware or other components. Gianna’s husband and her small kids join them at a nearby table, and Dan listens to them gripe at each other in Italian with a small, fond smile that he can’t seem to wipe from his face. 

Everyone takes a break after the meal, so Dan and Noah take the opportunity to walk along the quiet streets in the less touristy part of the island. It’s pretty utilitarian, industrial even, and quiet apart from the occasional boat motoring past on the water. They find a small park surrounded by red-roofed buildings of brick and stucco and decide to sit along a stone wall and take in the surroundings. 

They have plans tomorrow to visit Ca’ d’Oro and explore more of the city before they catch the overnight train to Florence. Dan almost asks if they can come back here. If Gianna and Rosa don’t want them he’d be fine sitting here in this park and just… talking. It scares him a little bit, that he might have come all this way, surrounded himself with all of these foreign places, all these remarkable experiences, and what he wants most is to just sit for an afternoon and talk to someone he could have met any time, any year before, right in his own backyard, if he’d been looking.

“Gianna was telling me about a beach,” Noah says. “Not the big one, but a smaller one that we can still reach on the vaporetto. Would you… maybe want to spend tomorrow there instead of sight-seeing?” 

Dan smiles and tips his face up to the sun. “That sounds perfect.”

“Yeah. I need to buy more sunscreen,” he says, which gives Dan an image of rubbing it on his shoulders, the back of his neck, across his shoulder blades. He might kiss that spot at the base of his neck that makes him smile and hold him, sun-warmed and pliant, when he’s finished. They could lie there and talk and not have to do anything, and the day might tick by slowly enough that at the end of it, it won’t feel painfully short the way every other day seems to since that night in Munich.

“I think the place next to where we got coffee today sells stuff like that,” Dan says, to drag his mind back to logistics. 

“Cool. I’ll stop by there in the morning before we go. We should head back,” Noah says. And they do. 

By the time Gianna steers the boat back towards their hotel, the sun is beginning to set. The city turns into rich shades of gold, umber, and magenta, and Dan isn’t really paying attention because there’s a fine distinction between Noah at peace, like he is now, and Noah at ease, like he is most of the rest of the time. It’s breathtaking. 

He took off his hat for the ride back, and his hair flutters in the spray created by the boat’s speed, his curls whipping high off his forehead. In another few years, when he loses the rest of that youthful softness in his face, he’s going to be devastating. Dan wonders if he knows. Dan wonders if he’ll still be close enough to him by then to see it firsthand.

Noah turns, like he can feel Dan’s gaze on his, and smiles. “Good day?”

“Great day. Thank you.”

Noah smiles wider and cups his face with this hand, the setting sun sprinkling the hairs of his arm. “Thanks for agreeing to come,” he says. “I didn’t know how much I needed this.” 

“Me either,” Dan says, as Noah kisses him.

When they’re back on land, Noah glances in the direction of their hotel. “Dinner, then bed?” he asks. 

Dan smiles when he thinks about their cramped double bed, shoved into the corner of a room overlooking a quiet canal, about how he woke Noah up this morning by describing everything he wants to do there tonight. “Dinner, then bed.”


	5. Florence

“So this is David,” Dan says, staring up at the marble statue. Michelangelo’s David is bigger than he thought he would be, rising high above the crowd that presses up against the barrier around his pedestal in the Galleria dell’Accademia.

“Yep. Did you know he was carved out of a single block of marble that had been discarded by two other sculptors?” Noah says.

Dan’s mouth twitches. “Guidebook or Google?”

“A rare instance of listening to one of my dad’s rambling stories,” Noah says. “Apparently two previous sculptors had tried to use the block but both ended up giving up on it. They said the material was too brittle and difficult to work with.”

“Hm,” Dan says thoughtfully, the gears pulling at something in his mind.

They’ve checked off one or two must-see spots in each city, but this is the first proper museum they’ve visited since Vienna. Dan feels different now than he did then, more calm, more content to deal with the crowds and stop and study the paintings and sculptures on display. 

They haven’t spoken much as they perused the galleries. He likes being here, though. He likes being around Noah here, too. Noah doesn’t rush through in search of famous names or familiar titles or must-see paintings. He wanders slowly, meticulously. He stops when something catches his eye and leans closer. His face changes with the mood of each piece, like he’s not just looking, he’s feeling.

When they do hit one of the so-called masterpieces, Noah likes to take it in, like he’s trying to understand what sets it apart. They’ve been standing in front of David for ten minutes, and it’s getting more crowded, more hot, the time turning sluggish because of it. Dan doesn’t mind. In three days, the trip is over. Time can go as slowly as it wants.

They spend more hours than they planned to at the museum, and by the time they’re finished, it’s almost dinner time. Noah goes into the bathroom to freshen up, and Dan opens the journal he bought in Venice, where he’s been making notes ever since about their travels, notes that are turning a spark of an idea into a rough plan. 

He writes:  
_David. Too brittle and difficult to work with / One man’s trash is another man’s treasure._

When Noah comes back out, Dan puts the journal aside. 

“Is it weird that I kind of just want to stay in tonight? I know we should be making the most of our time here, but…” Noah trails off, and the look he gives Dan says it all.

“C’mere,” he says, holding out his hand. He pulls Noah closer until he’s in his lap, and then he kisses him. “It’s just Florence.” 

Noah’s answering laugh vibrates against his lips as he kisses him again, plays along. “Just a bunch of old plaster and stone.” 

Dan works his hands under Noah’s t-shirt. “Let’s stay in.”

* * *

Dan wakes in the morning with Noah’s dick stiff and hot against his side and one of his arms heavy on his chest as he presses kisses to the curve of his shoulder. It’s a pretty effective alarm clock. 

“Hi,” Dan says. His voice is wrecked from the night before.

“You wanted me to wake you when I woke up.” 

Noah seems barely awake himself, apart from the obvious, his kisses uncoordinated, his hand roaming aimlessly until it stumbles on a nipple and tweaks it. 

“Mmm,” Dan says, turning his head to catch Noah’s mouth. He frowns at the minty flavor. “You got up and brushed your teeth.”

Noah just smiles and kisses him again, moving his hips so he can rub himself mindlessly between Dan’s side and the sheets. 

Dan grins at him and rolls onto his side, taking his dick in his hand and holding it still so he can’t keep rutting. “I’ll be right back.”

The hoarse whine that tears out of Noah’s throat is deeply gratifying. 

Dan does a full two minute tooth-brushing, counting to thirty with each quarter of his mouth. Then he opens the floss with a click. 

“You should know I’m getting myself off without you,” Noah says, and adds a low moan for show. 

Dan turns in the doorway, and flosses his upper teeth as well as he can with Noah spread out on the bed, fucking into his own hand. He’s so gorgeous like that, the muscles of his arms roping to his right hand tight around himself and his left hand tangled up in the sheets. 

As soon as Noah realizes that Dan is enjoying the show, that Dan’s cock is growing hard and heavy in response, he grins and tips his hips sideways to give him a better view. 

“I did this once in Vienna,” Noah says, pulling faster, panting. “When you went to buy that SD card.”

“Holy fuck,” Dan says as he retwists the floss and switches to his bottom teeth. He remembers that morning, and the way Noah’s ears turned pink when he handed him a tea. 

“Did you tell yourself it was my hand,” Dan asks, dropping the floss in the trash and pulling his cock with a loose stroke. Noah’s skin is flushing a gorgeous pink across his chest, accentuating the souvenirs left by Dan’s mouth from Munich, from Venice, from Florence.

“Yeah,” Noah breathes, pumping faster. “I thought you’d know just what to do with those long, gorgeous fingers of yours. That you’d wrap them around me just right. That you’d put one or two inside me if I asked you nicely.” Noah is having a hard time talking now, the words coming out on thin breaths. “Turns out. Turns out I was—was right.” 

Come coats his hand and shoots up his chest and Dan makes an _unseemly_ noise before he has to be on the bed too, has to be part of it. 

Noah rubs his hand off on the soiled sheets and pulls Dan in, kissing him. His tongue makes a lazy tour of Dan’s mouth, “Mmm, too bad it took you so long to make yourself minty fresh,” he says. 

“Worth it, god.” 

Noah laughs against his mouth and rolls back, pulling Dan on top of him. Dan loves the way their bodies feel pressed together like this, how compact and strong Noah is, and how his belly is just soft enough to feel amazing when he rubs himself against it. 

Dan moves lower, and his dick finds a warm, almost-enough place between Noah’s thighs, still wet with come. 

“Ah, careful,” Noah gasps, holding his hips up off his still-swollen cock. “Remember I just came.”

“Never gonna forget,” Dan says, and then, belatedly, “Sorry.” 

“Here,” Noah laughs, turning sideways and tucking back into Dan. He lifts a leg and keeps Dan warm and ready between his thighs while he reaches for lube. 

“This okay?” he asks, pulling Dan in one long, sweet drag to coat him before squeezing his thighs around him. 

Dan emits a low, undignified groan as he curls himself around Noah because _fuck_ , this man’s thighs should come with a warning label. 

“Dan?”

“Yes, fuuuck. It’s fucking great.” 

Noah laughs the laugh of the already sated.

Noah wiggles his hips and Dan has to move. The muscles in his hips, in his back, in his _pinky toe_ contract as he moves. 

“Feel so good,” he mumbles. 

Noah can feel how close he is, is attuned to all the signs now, the breathy gasps, the sharp indents of his fingertips. Noah reaches back and clamps his hand around the nape of Dan’s neck, holding on tight so he can crank his head around and kiss him. He digs his hand into his hair, like he can pin him, keep him going, help him draw all the pleasure out of each starburst popping along his skin. 

Dan shifts up just a little bit, closer to his cheeks, and the friction is perfect, perfect, _perfect_. Dan finally gives in, ruffling Noah’s hair with his gasp as he comes between his thighs.

Noah is breathing just as heavily as he is. He takes Dan’s hand and winds their fingers together so he’s wrapped tightly in Dan’s embrace. 

“We should shower,” Noah says.

“In a minute.”

“I’m covered in your come.”

“You’re covered in your come, too,” Dan says, closing his eyes. “Don’t pretend you don’t like it.”

If Noah has a counter-argument, Dan doesn’t hear it. They fall back asleep, tangled up together, impervious to the Italian sunshine.

* * *

By the time they venture out, it’s mid-afternoon, and they’re both famished. They buy street food at one of the big outdoor markets for lunch and spend the rest of the day wandering through the streets of Florence. They have gotten used to getting lost, but that doesn’t seem to happen here. No matter how many turns they make, they find themselves pointing in the direction of the contrasting stonework of the duomo at the center of the old city. Dan is starting to feel like he’s figured some things out on this trip, and this, this seeming impossibility of getting lost, is a weird affirmation.

Dan has one place on his list for today that he wants to make sure they hit, a shop called Officina Profumo-Farmaceutica di Santa Maria Novella, so they stop there before crossing the river. 

“I read about this place in your guidebook,” Dan says, his voice soft and shy as they walk into the main sales room.

“You did?”

“In the shopping section, which I assume you skip.” He can tell by Noah’s face that he assumes right.

“What is it?” 

“It’s sort of like a general store? Except more specific than that.” Dan should have built some immunity to Noah's fond grin by now, but he hasn’t. So he pushes on. “It’s been in business for four hundred years. They use artisanal techniques developed by friars and do all this specific sourcing of local ingredients.” Dan runs his hand over a wood display counter as they walk among the frescoed and gilded rooms. They spend an hour there, looking at the products. Dan buys a few as gifts for his friends and Noah buys lotion for his mom and a candle for his sister. 

They get a local recommendation for dinner from the shop owner and walk to a tiny Italian restaurant on a quiet street. They eat with ankles crossed under the table and soft smiles between bites. The conversation flows easily, like it has since that first night. They have so little in common on paper, but they share an interest in learning each other’s interests, and that carries them through. 

After dinner, Dan checks his phone and listens to a voicemail.

“Oh my god,” he says, gripping Noah’s arm.

“What? What happened? Is something wrong?”

“No, it’s just. I got a job,” he says, still stunned as he hangs up. “I had this horrible audition for a tiny part in a film about a college admissions department about a month ago, and they passed, but I guess this person they hired backed out or something.”

“Oh my god, like an acting job?” Noah asks, grinning.

“Yeah. I’d be in scenes with Tina Fey. Filming starts in New Jersey in two weeks.”

Noah looks almost proud, which is even worse than fond, it turns out. “Congrats, man.”

“Thanks.” Dan is still staring at his phone, and he feels like he might actually cry. “Thanks,” he says again.

“We should celebrate,” Noah says. 

“I know this will shock you, but I don’t think I can eat or drink another thing.”

“That’s too bad,” Noah says, rubbing circles into his hip bones, “because there is a place by the hotel that has, at all times, fifty flavors of gelato.”

“It’s a long walk back to the hotel,” Dan says carefully.

Noah grins, attuned to his logic. “You might work up an appetite.”

“Worth a try,” he says, and Noah kisses him, and Dan kisses him again, and again, because he’s running out of days to do that. “Speaking of working up an appetite.”

“C’mon, gelato first,” Noah says with a laugh and pulls him back toward the river.

Festival del Gelato has, as promised, an entire wall of gelato flavors decorated with fresh ingredients. They each order four different flavors so they have eight to share between them, and eat them at the nearby Piazza della Repubblica under the glowing street lamps. 

“Congratulations,” Noah says, tapping one of his gelato cups against Dan’s. “To being a working actor.”

“To being a working actor,” Dan says with a breathy, shocked laugh. “I’m sure your next role is right around the corner.”

“Yeah. Something always comes along,” he says, with confidence that’s really sexy.

“Do you think you’ll stay in Toronto?”

“Yeah. At least until pilot season in L.A. I was… actually thinking I might travel around a little bit longer, though. Keep working west. Paris. Barcelona. London. I hear Zürich is lovely.”

Dan smiles and steals a spoonful of his strawberry white cheesecake. “Mmm, so they say. You should definitely see London though. It’s one of my favorite cities.”

Noah worries his lip in the twilight and takes a deep breath. Dan knows it’s coming, but that doesn’t make it any easier. “Come with me,” Noah says. “Show me around. I’ll get you back to New Jersey in time for the shoot.”

This isn’t the half-drunk, exhausted spontaneity with which Noah invited himself on this trip. He knows Dan now, and he still wants time with him. It makes Dan warm all over. But. “I can’t,” he says. “I have to give my dog a little daddy time before I take off again.”

“Oh sure. I bet he misses you.” 

“Probably not as much as I’d like to think he does,” Dan says. Redmond seems to be having more fun with Aunt Sarah than he ever has with Dan, but it’s not Redmond’s fault Dan is a workaholic. It will be good to get some face time in, and he really does need to go home and reset before filming starts. 

“Seems weird to be going without you,” Noah says softly. 

“Seems weird to imagine you going without me. Who will make sure you’re dressed appropriately and getting sunscreen on the back of your neck?”

“Indeed.”

That sobers them, and they trade bites of gelato quietly.

“You know, I meant what I said that night. About this not being just a sex thing. I’ll miss you at night,” Noah says, “but I’ll miss you even more during the day.”

Dan concentrates on stabbing his spoon into the last bite of honey lavender. “Yeah. I don’t know how I’m going to—I don’t—”

“Don’t,” Noah says. “We don’t have to wrap it up and say all the things. We’re supposed to be celebrating, remember?”

“Yeah.” Dan nods. Noah hands him the rest of his gelato and puts a hand on his shoulder. Squeezes. “Yeah.”

* * *

The cheery Italian sunshine filters through the curtains on their last day of the trip. Dan would love a repeat of the morning sex and epic sleeping-in of the day before, but they have a day trip planned to the home of Leonardo da Vinci today—Noah’s thinly-veiled excuse to give Dan his murmured desire to seeing rural Tuscany—and the car should be waiting for them downstairs in an hour.

When they sign off on all the paperwork for the rental, Dan insists on driving. Even though he knows he’ll be an anxious driver, he would be even worse as a passenger. He doesn’t want Noah’s last memory of him to be him gripping the dashboard every time he taps the brake and asking if every sign is their turn.

Once they’re safely buzzing along the autostrata, Dan takes a deep breath. “Okay, better. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Noah says, squeezing his thigh.

The radio fills the car with American pop hits from the seventies and eighties, and neither of them change it. They even sing along to a few of them.

Noah grips his knees and blows out a breath. “So I know you have the movie now, and neither of us knows what’s happening a few months from now, but I’d like to see you, if we’re ever in the same place. Is that… would you like that?”

The answer is yes and it sticks to the roof of his mouth, because neither of them know what the fuck they’re doing with their lives and as much as he likes Noah—a truly unfathomable amount—he doesn’t want them to decide what they’re doing with their lives is each other. 

“We should keep in touch,” he hedges. 

“Keep in touch,” Noah says, and Dan can tell it’s not what he wants to hear. But Dan has been thinking about this. A lot. 

“I just… I think if we make plans, and then they don’t pan out, then this time with you will become about that final disappointment. And this time with you is… it’s too important to me for that.”

Noah makes a low sound in his throat, and Dan isn’t sure if that sound means he agrees or disagrees. “Dan,” he starts, but doesn’t finish. 

“Can we just not talk about this right now?” Dan blurts. 

Noah shakes his head and pulls out a map. After another few minutes, he says, “If we turn up here, there’s a big vineyard that has tours and a tasting room. What if we just do that and forget the house tour?”

Dan feels his shoulders drop several inches. “That—yeah. That sounds good.”

They wind up sipping a deep full-bodied red wine on a patio on an Italian hillside overlooking lush vineyards in neat rows stretching out far below them. It’s idyllic, perfect even, which makes Dan want to explain.

“Sorry about the driving thing,” Dan says.

“It’s okay,” Noah says. “I shouldn’t have started that conversation when I could see you were already stressed.”

“You were fine.”

They sip their wine peacefully for a few minutes.

“Which of the places we went would you most like to come back to,” Noah says.

Dan smiles and looks out over the valley. “This one,” he says without hesitation. “For a week. With a hired driver.”

Noah laughs. “It is really beautiful here.”

“Yeah.”

“Tell you what,” Noah says, and by now Dan can tell this is his fake casual, not his real at-ease. “Next time one of us has something to celebrate, we’ll come back here.”

“Okay,” Dan says. He’s just going to let Noah have this. 

“I mean it,” he says, unwilling to be placated. 

“I have so much left that I want to do.” Dan blinks away a tear. He can’t explain it, how deeply he cares about Noah, and how much he needs Noah to care about this, to let him make a life worth sharing before he invites anyone to share it. Even if that means he doesn’t get to share it with Noah.

“Dan.” Noah moves his wineglass to the other hand. “I didn’t ask about what comes after this because I want to lock you in some impossible commitment. Or set you up for disappointment. I want you to get to do all the things you want to do. I just want to see you sometimes, when it works out for both of us. If you—If you want that.” When Dan doesn’t answer right away, Noah adds, with a fucking twinkle in his eye, “And not just as a sex thing.”

Dan’s laughter rolls down the Tuscan hillside. Dan has never, in his life, had someone want so much of him and require so little of him. “I want that, too,” he says finally, and takes Noah’s hand.

“Okay,” Noah says, like that settles it, like the details will just… work themselves out. Although the way this trip has gone, maybe they will. “Pencil it in then. The next celebration is in Tuscany.” 

Dan just laughs again and squeezes his hand and sips his wine. 

After the winery, they walk around Empoli until they find a place that looks good for dinner, and then Dan manages to get them back safely to Florence. 

Back at their hotel, they both shower off the day. When he gets out of the shower, Noah is sitting on the edge of the bed, flicking around on his phone. Noah hasn’t bothered to put on sleep clothes, so he doesn’t either.

“Hey,” he says, when he sees Dan.

“Hey.” Dan pats his hair as dry as he can before discarding the towel. 

“C’mere,” Noah whispers, pulling Dan onto his lap. Dan straddles his thighs and wraps his arms around his shoulders so he can kiss him. His dick presses against Noah’s stomach and hardens quickly as Noah nibbles his lower lip while they kiss. 

“So. Our last night, huh?” Noah’s mouth lingers below his ear, the heat of his breath ratcheting up the arousal coursing through him. 

Dan tips his head back in a groan. “Ugh, don’t say it.” 

Noah takes advantage of his position to kiss down his neck, and Dan tilts his head further back and to the side, giving him better access. Noah takes it greedily. 

“What do you want tonight?” Noah’s voice is low, rumbly, and already laced with need. 

_Everything_ , Dan thinks. Another night. Another week. He wants everything. And he wants to want less, so he can just let himself have this. He doesn’t answer, just hums deep in his throat when Noah sucks a mark into the curve of his shoulder.

He’s hard now, and he can feel Noah pressing up between his legs. Even if he couldn’t, he can tell how much Noah wants him by the way he touches him, fingers warm and ready and seeking. 

Noah’s hands hold him steady as he moves his own knees wider, spreading Dan’s legs apart in the process. The stretch is almost too much, but it feels perfect, a promise that leaving tomorrow won’t erase the memories his body has of their time together. 

Noah nudges Dan’s cheek with his nose. “Tell me if that gets uncomfortable,” he says, before he kisses him again.

For awhile, Noah just kisses him, like he’s memorizing the feel of his mouth, the burn of his stubble, the way his jaw hinges and his neck stretches, the way Dan’s hum starts low in his throat when every touch is so close and not enough. 

Noah holds him steady with one hand, palm flat and white hot between his shoulder blades, while he reaches for the lube. The cap snicks open and then Noah is kissing him again. He loses track of what’s happening with Noah’s hands until a finger presses wet against his rim. Stretched as he his, with his legs on either side of Noah, he already feels so sensitive, so acutely aware of each point of pressure. Noah toys with him, making slow circles until it’s so much, so terribly much, and Dan has to grip him by his hair to keep from falling, to keep him going. 

“So gorgeous,” Noah says, nuzzling below Dan’s ear and kissing the thin skin there. He keeps talking as he slides in a finger, working Dan open with slow, steady pressure. It’s all embarrassing and erotic and Dan thinks he could come just from Noah’s fingers in his hole and his voice in his ear. 

Noah’s low voice floats between them with all the things he wants to do to Dan tonight, the way his freckles taste, the sound he makes when Noah curves his finger just right, “Yes, god, Daniel, that one,” how soft his sweater was the first night they met, and how soft the skin on his belly is, and how he could probably lay him back and rub off on it, come just from that, and then he’s really going, saying the dumbest shit now that he has three fingers in. His breaths are coming as fast as Dan’s, his free hand leaving marks in the skin of Dan’s ass, his heart beating in a heady thump-thump against Dan’s chest. 

Dan is so giddy with all of it, all of it, that he starts laughing, a full belly laugh that makes Noah’s fingers freeze inside him. 

“I’m sorry,” Dan says, still laughing. “I’m so sorry.” 

“Did I—”

“God, no,” Dan says, pushing him backwards so he’s lying on the bed. He kisses him, loudly and with force, and Noah starts laughing, too, even though he doesn’t know why Dan is laughing, even though Dan couldn’t explain it if he tried. He thinks… he thinks he’s happy. He’s so happy he could cry, and laughter seems better than tears for this moment. 

Noah reaches up and hauls him down by the back of his head, and it’s rough and full of laughter and, yes, definitely happiness, until they dissolve into giggles again. 

“We’re leaving tomorrow. This is supposed to be serious and angsty and shit,” Noah says sternly. Dan kisses the quivering line of his mouth. 

“Sorry. I just. I really like you,” he says. 

“Aw.” Noah smiles, the soft one without even a hint of teasing. “I really like you, too.”

Suddenly, whatever happens, he knows he’ll see him again. Maybe not like this. Maybe they’ll stay friends. Maybe they’ll hook up sometimes. Maybe they’ll date. Maybe they’ll work together. Maybe they’ll just meet up in a few years and get coffee and reminisce and go their separate ways. He’s never been this joyful about a moment that’s probably not going to last, never been so happy just to have it at all. Never been this confident that somehow, it’ll work out however it’s supposed to. 

No matter what, this trip will stay with him, and Noah with it. 

Dan leans back to reach for a condom and Noah scoots further back on the bed so there’s more room for Dan’s knees. Dan lines himself up and lowers himself on Noah’s cock with a groan. It’s only the second time they’ve done this; he’s not used to how full Noah makes him. 

Noah trails his fingers up and down Dan’s legs, through the hair on his thighs, and deep between them where their bodies meet. Dan just lets himself sink down and enjoy his hands on him, his cock inside him. Noah reaches for his hand and gives it a gentle tug, pulling Dan in for a kiss. 

When Dan starts to move, he has a great view of Noah’s face, the way his eyes close and his smile falls open into a blissed-out groan, the lovely tension and the bulging veins in his forearm as he reaches to stroke Dan with slow, easy jerks of his hand. 

It’s Dan who comes first, the orgasm building like a fever in Noah’s hands until he’s shooting come across his chest and up under his chin. Noah just smiles, heavy-lidded, as his hands find their way back to Dan’s hips, slick and greedy. He can feel Noah getting close, can feel it by the way his thrusts turn choppy and uncoordinated, see it in the flush that turns his skin pink and his eyes black. 

“Dan,” he whispers. 

“I’m here. Come on, baby,” he says, and Noah comes with a gasp, his hips jerking between Dan’s thighs. Dan rolls just a little and Noah nods, frantic, so Dan doesn’t let up until he’s done, until Noah is biting off the moan into his bicep. 

Dan holds the condom and pulls off, tossing it aside. His dick is still oversensitive as he lays himself on top of Noah, pinning it between them. He doesn’t care. 

“We should shower,” he says between kisses pressed to Noah’s chest.

“We just did,” Noah mumbles, still trying to catch his breath.

“Yeah,” Dan says, too tired, and too blissed-out, to argue. 

They do eventually clean up and rearrange themselves. Then they fall asleep with Noah tucked in behind Dan, his lips pressed warm and sure and _there_ against the base of his neck.

* * *

Dan looks at Noah helplessly as they issue the ten minute warning to board his flight. Dan leaves now. Noah snagged a flight on one of the budget European carriers that leaves for Paris in two hours. 

Dan thinks some part of him knew this goodbye would be hard the very first night. Thinks that’s why he tried to avoid it, caught a flight to Paris and tried to get back to Toronto before it got any harder to do this.

“You know where to find me,” Noah says, picking up his backpack from the seat near Dan’s gate. 

“Yeah. Let me know when you’re back, and I’ll call you when I’m in Toronto next.” Dan examines his hands, even though it feels cowardly. He knows he’s never felt like this with anyone else, but he also knows himself, knows how he tends to get wrapped up in projects, in work, in people he knows are temporary. “Might be awhile though.”

“Yeah. Dan, I wanted to say—”

“No. Let’s just. Not do speeches. When I see you again, if you still feel—If you still want to say something, then you can tell me then.”

“Okay. That’ll give me time to practice the delivery,” Noah says.

“Perfect.” Dan does his best to memorize that smile one more time.

The gate attendant calls for his boarding group to line up, so he gives Noah one last hug. Noah’s arms close around him like a vice, crushing their bodies together, his face pressed into Dan’s neck. 

“I have to go,” Dan says, squeezing harder.

“Go,” Noah says, squeezing back. 

Too soon, finally, he does.


	6. Toronto

In the years after those two weeks, Dan and Noah keep in touch. Their relationship is open. Open to other partners, casually or otherwise, open to spending long periods of time apart, open to change, open to turning it off if one of them finds someone else, open to narrowing it back up again when they have a few months where their schedules and desires align. 

They grow together and grow apart and grow back together. Sometimes, they’re closer than ever. Sometimes, it feels like they really only know each other socially. Sometimes, when Noah is in Toronto and Dan is in L.A. and they’re both working, it’s hard. Sometimes, it’s not. Most of the time, Dan is happy with his life, and Noah’s part in it seems to work for both of them. 

They do go through cycles. Sometimes they text for days, for weeks, before it goes silent again. Sometimes Noah sends Dan a picture from the trip: the two of them with handfuls of melting gelato from their last night in Florence; Dan scowling from the white bed in the white room in Munich, the curve of his shoulder still red from Noah’s mouth; the little warren of alleys in Venice where they kissed until the shadows of evening made it impossible to find the same way out that they’d taken in. The picture of Dan taking a picture on the bridge. 

Dan tries to reply to the photos, to the messages, to the calls, even when he’s busy. But sometimes they just don’t connect as much as they might like to. Still, it’s always easy enough to pick back up where they left off. In Budapest, it only took a couple of hours for them to find common ground. It never takes longer than that. 

Even when they don’t talk, the trip sticks with him. The freedom, the inspiration, the recognition that he might not get everything figured out when he wants to, how he wants to. He keeps the journal from Venice by his bed, and more nights than not, he makes notes. 

Whenever Noah starts seeing someone else, even if it’s not serious, Dan is tempted to wonder about timing, about whether they missed their shot. He doesn’t think so, because meeting Noah exactly when he did, exactly where he did, changed his life. He doesn’t have to wonder about that. He knows.

Sometimes, when he’s unsure about a choice, he remembers that first night they met in Budapest, and how close he was to not going on the trip at all. It’s a good reminder to trust his instincts about divergent paths, and about people.

Noah remembers somewhat less of that night in Budapest than Dan does, even though he insists otherwise. It’s a running joke. Noah even wrote a fucking song about it.

A few years after the trip, and for the first time in his life, he shares an idea with his dad. As he does it, he thinks of the way Noah smiled at him when he told him how random and fickle and subjective the business is, and he should use whatever he’s got to break into it. He remembers his smile as he told him someone would find a way to fire him if he couldn’t hack it.

It turns out, he can hack it.

Dan gets busy with the show, so even though he spends more time in Toronto than ever, he has so little of it to spare. 

One afternoon after filming starts on Season 3, he gives Noah a call. 

“Daniel, hey,” he says, sounding a little out of breath. 

“Hey.”

“How’s the show? I keep hearing amazing things. I’m so proud of you.”

“Oh, ha.” Dan laughs nervously, but just the way Noah says it fills him with warmth. “Yeah it’s good. Thanks.” 

“When do you film? Are you back in Toronto?” Noah asks. 

“Yeah. Last month.” 

Noah falls silent and Dan doesn’t blame him. Dan usually calls right when he gets into town, usually plans an extra day or two before he has to start work. “I’d love to see you,” he says anyway. 

“Sure. I’m free most mornings this week. Our place on Queen Street?”

“Yeah. Um. Tomorrow? Ten o’clock?”

“See you there.”

Dan spends way too much time fussing with his hair and changing into different sweaters for a coffee meeting with someone he’s known for years, someone who’s seen him crusty from the beach in Venice, sweaty from the heat of Florence, tired and worn out from long days filming in Toronto, and in all possible states of undress. Someone who has always made it easier to be vulnerable. 

He decides to walk to the coffee house, even though it’s cold out today. He wants time to think about what he’s about to ask, to prepare himself for Noah to say no. He has no idea where this will lead, if they’ll be celebrating in Tuscany like they talked about or if Dan will be drowning Noah’s character in the creek to avoid strangling him in real life.

But he sort of does know, because he knows how much they trust each other, that they bring out the best in each other, that they always have. Somehow he just knows that will transfer to their characters, to the screen. If Noah says yes.

Noah is already at the cafe when he arrives, sitting in one of the booths along the wall. He stands up to peck Dan on the cheek. 

“I got you a coffee. Hope that’s okay.” A waiter brings over a scone for Noah and a muffin for Dan. “And a muffin.”

“Yes, god, I’m starving.”

Noah smiles at him, that old knowing smile that lays Dan bare. 

“It’s good to see you,” he says softly.

“It’s good to see you, too,” Dan says. Noah’s hair has gotten longer, not quite enough to curl like when they first met, but close. “I know I’m terrible at making time when I’m shooting but we should make plans for dinner or something to catch up.”

“Is that not what this is?” Noah asks, smiling into his coffee cup. 

“Um, no. I mean yes. But… I actually called about something else.” 

Across from him, Noah furrows his brow. Dan is so nervous, and Noah is so good at reading him. “Daniel,” he whispers, like he knows. Like he _knows_. His smile spreads slowly, beautifully across his face. 

So. Dan reaches into his bag and pulls out the script for Season Three, Episode Eight, and slides it across the table. 

He takes a deep breath in. Blows it out. “I was sort of hoping you would go on another adventure with me.”

**Author's Note:**

> I intended to finish this for the February RPF fest but it got a little out of hand length-wise, as you can see. In any case, I hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
